


Send Out the Wrecking Crew

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dirty Talk, Facials, Hetalia Kink Meme, M/M, Marathon Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:51:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America decides to make up for all the lost nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send Out the Wrecking Crew

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Hetalia kink meme and then reposted to LJ December 30, 2010.
> 
> When I finished this fill back in May, I decided I would never de-anon from it because I was embarrassed. But I've decided to just go ahead and do it. If you're looking for realistic sex, turn away. I should rename this fic "Great Boner Adventure" _because this is not humanly possible._
> 
> Warning: Sex sex and more sex. Includes multiple positions, facials, dirty talk, and disobeying the laws of nature.

The meetings were long and boring, long enough that it wasn’t just the knot of his tie pressing against his throat by the end of the day that distracted him. That was what happened whenever America’s focus drifted away from the presenters, which was all the time, and shifted to the man across the table from him, all prim and proper and gentlemanly. The knot in his throat played insistently with his air supply, made it hard to focus on anything but the way England’s throat curved, his fingers tapping prolonged melodies across the wooden table. 

Tonight. He kept thinking about tonight. It’d been a month since he and England had tentatively started something. Something. They’d kissed, long, hard, up against a wall, with England’s leg wrapped around America’s hips, until the G8 meeting was called to order and they had to slip away from where they’d hidden on the balcony in favor of photo-ops with the other countries—America still thought the former was more important. England disagreed. Since then, England and America had rarely crossed paths—England with his own responsibilities, America with his. In their own countries, in their allies’ countries. The moments they saw each other were at haphazard world summit meetings or UN meetings, and only then were they fleeting glances. But not tonight. America was sick of relying on the fantasies of how England would touch him and using his own hand as a weak substitute. 

Which was why just thinking of it made him half-hard right there in the meeting. The way England’s fingers moved across the wood of the table, the way he swallowed absently, parted his mouth to lick his lips. The man was practically obscene and he probably didn’t even realize just what he was doing to America, just how badly America wanted to pump his cock, drag England by the foot under the table, and fuck him while simultaneously fucking the consequences. 

But he didn’t, and he could be patient. He _could_ be patient. 

But England must have felt the gaze on him because their eyes met, and England’s brow furrowed, annoyance, already forming the lecture he’d give America after the meeting. Pay attention. 

America thrilled at the idea of knocking all propriety from England, to have him be a moaning, writhing mass, begging for more, giving America more, fucking him with no clothes on, with ragged hair, a red face, panting breaths, cum in his hair. 

He squirmed, but not before England saw it and his eyebrows slanted upwards. America smirked, felt his face flush, and tried to mouth dirty promises to England across the table. _I want to fuck you,_ he mouthed. 

“America!” Germany shouted, interrupting Japan’s presentation on energy-efficient cars. “Do you have something to say?” 

America swiveled his head from England and stared at Germany, momentarily forgetting that people other than England (naked) existed. He frowned at Germany, and said, “I, uh, want to vacuum!”

Germany stared at him. America grinned at him.

“Vacuum in the, uh… bathroom.” 

Germany stared harder, decided that America was a lost cause, and shooed the nation away. America bolted from his seat and raced to the bathroom. _This_ time, he amended, would be the last time he’d have to use his hand to get some satisfaction. 

 

\---

 

“What was that earlier?” England asked him once the meeting was over, nations filtering from the room. It took all America’s restraint not to throw England onto the table and fuck him there. But he had his restraint. The anticipation was killing him. He’d been waiting so long and now to have it be so near was enough to send America into a fit. He hated waiting. He hated being patient.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Vacuuming in the bathroom?” England asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” America said, and as always when talking with England felt that ridiculous urge to fight against him for the sake of fighting. “The floors were dirty.”

England rolled his eyes, obviously giving up on America ever saying something sensible and collected his things, heading towards the door. He paused with his hand on the doorframe, however, and turned to America, who couldn’t even deny he was looking at England. With a small smile, England walked up to America, brushed the hair from his face, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

England pulled back, smoothing the hair from America’s face. America licked his lips, still hungry for England. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Your flight’s not for a few more days, right?” America asked. 

“That’s right. Just in case the meetings went over the allotted time,” England confirmed with a nod, adjusting America’s tie. America watched him for a long moment. 

“Will you stay with me tonight? In my hotel?”

“I have a lot of work to do, America,” England said, and sounded apologetic, sounded as if he only needed one little nudge to be convinced otherwise.

America shifted forward, placing a hand on the small of England’s back, leading him towards the door. As he bent forward to open the door, he let his fingers drag around England’s body, over his back, over his hip, and over the front of his suit, in just the right spot that caused England to gasp slightly. America kept on a small, innocent smile—it’d been completely unintentional, of course.

“I already prepared it for you, though,” America said with a shrug of his shoulders. “You can work there, if you really want.” 

England closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. He opened his eyes a moment later, walking through the door with a small smile. “I’ll fetch my things from my hotel and meet you there, then.”

America couldn’t stop grinning all the way back to his hotel room.

 

\---

 

England didn’t keep America waiting long, as almost less than an hour later there was a knock at his door. America nearly wrenched the door open and pulled England inside. England laughed a little at the enthusiasm, lugging his suitcase and briefcase in with him, adjusting his tie as he went. America shut and locked the door behind him, leaning against the door and watching England move through the room as if he lived there, his hips swaying just the slightest bit, moving to deposit his bags near the closet and shrugging out of his jacket, hanging it up on one of the hotel hangers.

He turned to face him. 

“I’m not a piece of meat, America,” England drawled, tilting his head back in a beckoning gesture. “You don’t have to look at me like that.” 

“Mmf,” was America’s intelligent reply as he stumbled over to England, and England held his arms out to America. 

America fell into them and kissed England’s jaw once before pressing against his mouth and kissing him. England’s hands found his hair, smoothed and curled through the gold mass before anchoring America to England. They sank against one another. 

When they pulled apart, England breathed, “You aren’t going to let me work, are you?”

“Hell no,” America said, and sounded far too pleased. “We’ve been together for a month now and we still haven’t fucked, you know.”

“Hmm,” England hummed in disappointed agreement. “Seems our schedules rarely match up accordingly…”

“Well,” America said, sliding up to England, sliding his hand up England’s thigh. “There is no meeting tomorrow. So I thought…”

“You’d make up for lost time?”

“Wanna pull an all-nighter with me, baby?” 

“You seem to have vast amounts of faith in our stamina, America,” England said, cooed almost, voice low. But the hands on his hips were definitely not pushing him away and his eyes betrayed England’s excitement at the idea. 

“Is that a yes?” America asked, grinning.

“Come here and fuck me,” England growled, wrenching America down by his tie and kissing him again. He needed no further convincing. 

America mumbled against his mouth, letting England lick at his teeth and tongue: “I’ll fuck you, baby, I’ll fuck you until the bed breaks in two.”

“Oh fuck,” England moaned, shoving one leg between America’s and sliding up so he could rub against America’s thigh. “Fuck yes.” 

“Until you can’t even move,” America vowed around the teeth chewing on his bottom lip, swallowing England’s breathless moan. 

“Mmm,” England moaned, definitely not complaining. 

“And you won’t have to move,” America whispered, backing England up to the bed and pushing him back onto it. “You and I’ll just be here, and I’ll fuck you again and again.”

“Just do it already, fuck,” England moaned, writhing against America’s thigh. “Fuck me, America.” 

America didn’t need to be told twice. He threw England onto the bed. The man bounced once, gasped, arched, and America was there, crawling over him and ripping England’s clothes from him effortlessly. 

The hotel room was spartan. The bed was soft under England as America stripped him of his clothes, nearly literally ripping them off him, but remembering some restraint as he chucked the clothes towards the suitcase. England didn’t protest, because god did he want it too, after having to wait so long. Their mouths didn’t move away from each other once they connected, and England’s hands fisted in America’s clothes, slipping them from America’s body with more finesse but with just as much enthusiasm. 

When they did pull away, it was for America to whisper, hot against England’s kiss-moistened lips: “Touch yourself.” 

“Nn,” England hissed, reaching for America as America pulled away. He moved up onto his knees regardless, pushing his pants and briefs off the rest of the way, leaving himself completely naked. “Bastard, why can’t you do it yourself?” 

He crawled over towards America and America grinned, wolf-like, and leaned in to kiss England, thumbing through his hair before pulling back, grin still in place. “Cause I want to see you when you think about me.”

“And who says I think about you?” England replied with a haughty sniff that lacked any conviction. America laughed, and England cracked a smile before settling, making himself comfortable, and wrapping a hand around his own cock, pumping himself. He stared straight at America, eyes hooded and swirling with his lust.

The sound of gentle panting and the soft, wet sounds of flesh sliding over flesh filled the small hotel room. America felt his breath catch, pushing away a little bit, standing, feeling his unbuttoned pants slip slightly over his hips as he moved to the curtains, shutting out the dying sunlight to the world and making the world condense—only America and England. 

The dimly-lit room was bare, gave them plenty of privacy now. America retreated to the bed, returned to England as England pushed his hand up and down along the curve of his cock. It left America breathless, to see England move in the ways he did, eyes only on America, staring at only him while doing something he would often reserve for the shower, or a quick movement in the bedroom, alone, tissues wrapped around his cockhead. 

As he masturbated, his body quivered and shuddered, eyes fluttering closed only to flicker open again. His mouth opened and closed, tongue darting out occasionally to wet his lip, taste the lingering taste of America on his lips. America felt himself growing harder and harder, feeling the bulge in his pants and swallowing thickly around the knot in his throat. 

He whispered encouraging words to England. “Yeah, baby. Just like that. God, yes…”

England heard nothing over the sound of his own shuddering heartbeat and his panting. His eyes found America, saw America’s lips moving, but he heard no words. The sound of flesh on flesh continued, the small stream of pre-cum at the tip of his cock, only to be swept up by his thumb and brushed over the length of his cock. He arched slightly, fought the surge of pleasure coursing through him, fighting against him stubbornly. He smiled, low in the dim light, at only America and saw the way America’s own cock fought against the fabric of his suit pants.

He leaned forward, released his hold on his rigid cock, pulled the unzipped trousers away and the boxers, letting him come free. He didn’t betray anything on his face, save for perhaps the slightest widening of his eyes. He licked his lips as he pulled out America’s cock, large and thick. He dragged the soft surface of his nails over the underside of America’s cock, watched the man shudder with a secret thrill. He wrapped his hand around the cock, held it tightly, fluttered his eyes up to look at America.

“Come on, big boy,” England cooed, taking America’s hand and pressing it up against England’s cock. “Touch me.”

He did not say please, but his eyes beckoned America forward. He fumbled only slightly, and then he fisted his hand around England’s cock and pumped. England arched, closed his eyes and tipped his head back. His breathless moans were enough to send America over the edge, but he forced himself to resist—they had all night. All night, England would be his. 

England closed his eyes, concentrated on the feel of America touching him. He arched slightly, lifting a hand to creep it slowly up his chest, slide over his neck, letting his fingertips brush against his lips in a silent echo of how he wanted America to touch him. America watched him, breathlessly, his hand shaking as he pulled on the cock, slowly, almost too slowly. England hissed low in throat, softly, teeth coming together and breath hissing. And then his lips moved, only the barest of breaths, giving the faint moans and hisses a distinct sound. 

With a shudder that shook him down to his bones, America began to stroke England faster, face lax as he stared hungrily at every movement England took, no matter how tiny. England reacted favorably to the increase in friction and movement, shifting his hips to meet America’s strokes. The hand brushing across his own fingertips fell, grasped the bed sheets, twisted them in his hand and biting his lip, ducking his head as he let the pleasure wash over him. 

His breath was heavy now, and with a ragged, almost desperate wheeze, he felt his body finish, going rigid as his cock twitched once and long strings of pearly-white fluid shot out over his chest and belly. He moaned America’s name. 

He went limp, flopping against America, taking deep, gulping breaths. A line of sweat trickled down his temple. He didn’t think, just relaxed, let his body shake from the afterglow, pressing his lips against America’s neck and kissing him. America moaned low in his throat, eyelashes fluttering as he closed his eyes, relaxing against England, curling his arms around him and pressing him flat against him, England’s cum smearing between them. 

England was beautiful in the way that men seldom were, especially when his body was as fluid as liquid, curled up against him, heat radiating off him, soft and sated, lips curved into a sloppy smile. When their eyes opened and found one another, England perfectly content and despite the haze of lust clouding his vision, America with his dopey smile, they knew they were fit for each other. England was beautiful. 

“God, you’re hot,” America muttered in England’s ear and England shivered, jerked visibly at the sound. He went tense a moment, his face spreading with warmth before he just shook his head, laughing a bit disbelieving. 

“Wanker,” he said, affectionately.

America kissed England. England’s fingers found America’s hair, pulled away to remove America’s eyeglasses to place them down softly on the bedside table before flitting back into America’s arms. 

England pulled away from the kiss, brushing the hair from America’s face. 

“It must be cold,” America said absently, seeing the goose bumps on England’s arm now that the afterglow of his orgasm was dying down, and he was naked and with drying cum on his chest, smeared on America’s chest, too. 

England rolled his eyes, pushed America back, his back up against the headboard, tugging his pants down. “And you’ve gone and made both of us dirty.”

“That was all you, baby,” America protested, watching England fling the pants away and run his hands up America’s legs, from ankle to hips. He spread his legs a bit, curled a hand around the back of England’s neck to draw him closer. “Come ‘ere.” 

England watched him a moment, face still flushed, strands of loose hair hanging in his face, over his eyes, burning and looking only at America. He stared calmly up at America as he inched closer. The fingers on his skin twitched and shifted, drifting closer. They curled around America’s inner thighs, spreading him and England’s eyes flickered to the large cock standing at full attention, waiting for England. His skin was very smooth, over all that hard muscle (and the occasional fat). He smoothed his hands over America’s legs, absently, appreciatively. 

“Who knew you were so large?” England asked absently as finally, slowly, he dragged one finger over America’s cock. America’s breath stilled and he closed his eyes, moaning from the expectation, from the desire.

“England,” he said, in a rather pleading voice.

England obeyed his unspoken request, dipping his head and taking the cockhead in his mouth, sucking on it gently and swirling his tongue around the head and brushing along the slit. America murmured obscene, encouraging words that England didn’t hear, too busy sucking on the tip.

“Fuck, more,” America hissed, fingers fisting in England’s hair and pushing down, encouraging England. England choked slightly in surprise but relaxed his mouth, letting America shove him down further than he normally would want to go, licking along the underside. 

America tugged almost harshly on the hair, urging him further still. England choked, opened his mouth wider, ran his tongue along the length and sucked and licked at America’s cock, his fingers drifting over the skin he couldn’t reach, wrapping and pumping along the length. He pulled out, gasping for air, glancing up at America, who whispered his name again. England ducked his head, kissing along the underside and kissing along the sac underneath his cock, kissing and licking, lathing his entire cock with his saliva, fingers slipping over the spit and the pre-cum spilling from America’s cock. 

England pursed his lips, pushing more spit onto America’s cock as he licked and sucked, peppering the cock with kisses. The grip of America’s hand in his hair tightened slightly and he forcefully tipped England’s head back, grasping his cock by the base and pushing it against England’s lips, his chin, up along his jaw, smearing the saliva and pre-cum across his face. England opened his mouth, not to protest, but to moan, closing his eyes and licking at the cockhead when it passed over his lips. Spittle dripped along his face, and America grasped the back of England’s head forcefully and shoved his cock back into England’s mouth, pressing into him and thrilling in the way England choked and moaned, the vibrations sending tendrils of lust up his spine. 

“Fuck,” he gasped as England sucked on him again, relaxing his throat to take even more of him into his mouth, as deep as he could go and still not managing to get all of him. Fingers grasped along his length, massaging his sac and slipping past, pressing into the cleft of his ass experimentally, opening his eyes to look up at America and gauge his reaction. 

America moaned. England continued to suck and fist him, letting America shove his face further into his crotch, murmuring encouraging words to him, borderline dirty. He stroked the back of England’s head in apology for the harshness of his grip and then curled his fingers in his hair again, gripping England and forcing his head up and down, mouth bobbing along his cock, saliva dripping from his mouth and tongue as he dragged his tongue along his length, open-mouthed. 

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” America moaned and pulled England’s mouth away, tipping his head back. England blinked up at him just in time to see America shudder, moan England’s name, and shoot his load onto England’s face. The streaks of cum shot out and splattered across England’s face, across his cheeks, over his lips, his eyebrows, into his hair and on his forehead. It dripped down, slowly, and England kept his eyes shut as the cum clung to his eyelashes. “Oh Jesus,” America breathed. “Fuck.” 

England opened his eyes, the cum still sliding down his face. He smirked, his eyes burning with lust. He stuck out his tongue, licking at the corner of his mouth and swallowing some of America’s cum. It clung to his hair, to his eyebrows. It battered over his eyelashes and smoothed down his cheek. It pillowed along his upper lip before his tongue darted out, collecting the cum with gentle, conspicuous care as he gazed straight up at America. 

“Shit,” America breathed.

“What a dirty mouth you have,” England cooed, sucking one finger into his mouth absently a moment. 

“You’re the dirty one. You’re covered in cum,” America said, feeling the need to point out the obvious.

“Hmm,” England agreed, sitting up so he was eye-level with America. America stared at England, covered in his own cum and felt his cock twitch again. 

England lifted a hand, perhaps to wipe away some of the cum, but America caught the hand. “Wait. Leave it like that.”

“Dirty boy,” England said, and sounded pleased. He pressed in and kissed America and America could feel the cum and spit, could feel England’s desire and lust.

“The dirtiest,” America mumbled against England’s mouth, hands slipping down England’s sides, hand grazing over where England was already hard again. When they pulled away, America licked his lips hungrily, saw the way the cum was already drying on England’s face, clinging to him, marked as America’s. 

England crawled into America’s lap, swiveled his lips against him, and the limp cock stirred to life again. England threw his arms over America’s shoulders, rolling his hips. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “What do you like?” 

He smiled at America, with a smug sort of smile and his eyes half-lidded, hazy with promising lust and unconcealed desire. The arms resting on his shoulders shifted, fell away, only for him to trace one finger up along the ridges of America’s arm, peering at him and somehow the sultry look gave him was only compounded by the cum dried on his face. 

“Tell me what feels good,” England invited, finger tracing the jutting bone of America’s elbow before pulling away, still rolling his hips and reawakening the cocks between their writhing bodies. “Tell me what you desire… what you imagine.” 

He pushed America back, hovered over him as he kissed down his chest, lathing his tongue down the length of his golden skin, over the spots where a sheen of sweat was already forming.

“I want to fuck you,” America moaned. “Fuck you in the bed, on the balcony, against the window, against the mirror… and—and other places I haven’t thought of yet.” 

“How?” England cooed, kissing at his belly-button.

“Fuck—riding, bent over, face-to-face… I don’t care. I want you to scream my name,” America moaned, “I want you to burst from being so filled with my cum. So much that it drips out of you.” 

England moaned, writhed slightly, and America felt England’s cock, hard now, rub up against his inner thigh. America stifled his own moan unsuccessfully, squirming beneath England’s ministrations.

“You’ve already spent one round,” England teased, licking at the corner of his mouth again for a stray string of cum. 

“I’ve got a lot more waiting, babe,” America promised. “All for you.” 

England leaned in, quick as lightning, seizing America’s lip between his own, biting down enough to cause a sharp sting of pain, but not enough to lose the sensation of pleasure that surged through his blood. America lifted his hands, running his fingers through England’s hair, moving gently and massaging the back of his scalp in a silent, unacknowledged apology for the harshness with which he’d forced his cock into England’s mouth. England closed his eyes, smiling and moaning low in his throat. England ducked his head, pressing his mouth to America’s throat and neck, kissing and sucking and biting. America bit back a moan. 

“What else do you want? What do you like?” England asked.

“That,” America confessed as he felt the breath breeze over his neck. “Biting. I like the marks.”

He licked his lips, gaze flickering slightly to the side as though he wanted to look away and yet didn’t. England peered up at him and their eyes remained locked. 

“Are you shy?” England whispered, sounding amused. 

America’s eyes snapped to full attention on England’s face, and it shouldn’t be possible for someone to look as attractive and amazing as England did in that moment. It shouldn’t be possible for him to floor America so utterly, to seize control of everything America did, when he had cum on his face like that and disheveled hair. But damn if it didn’t turn America on.

“You have the perfect skin for biting—soft, and easy to leave a mark on,” England murmured, bending down over America’s chest, biting at his collarbone and staring up at him hungrily.

He ran his fingers down America’s skin, peering up at him still. He gave him a small chuckle, felt his lips curl into a gentle, but lustful, smile. He bit down on his skin, curious to see America’s reactions and his own arousal bared for the other man to see. It was in the way that he could not quite keep his hands off America anymore, in the way his eyes stayed on the other man’s body when the gentlemanly thing to do would be to look him in the eye while talking. 

Instead, he asked, “What else?”

He punctuated the question with a bite on America’s nipple before he pillowed his lips over his ribs, down his body. America choked on air, unable to answer right away. The feather-soft touch on his chest caused him to squirm slightly, to twitch away from the fingers only for England to follow him and reestablish the connection. Those hands wanted him. England wanted him. England wanted him inside of him.

“I like it rough,” America murmured, watching England’s face, watched the way the smile did not fade but rather twitched and spread slightly. The hand on his stomach splayed, fingers curled around the muscles, thumb pressing against the traces of England’s cum, wiped off against each other’s skin. 

“Hmm,” England hummed, appreciatively, shaping his words sensually with his voice, letting it drop into a low, almost predatory groan: “Rough and fast?”

“Yeah,” America breathed. He squirmed again against England’s touch. 

“Hm,” England murmured. “Wonderful.” 

He breathed in, then reached out to catch America’s wrist, bending to press a kiss to the other nation’s jaw line, where it met the neck. He bit down, hard, and thrilled in hearing America gasp. They kissed, England licking his way into America’s mouth and letting America swallow him, inviting him closer and pressing up against him. 

He shifted, pushing England onto his back, pushing over him. England moaned, squirmed, instinct telling him that he should fear and avoid having such a strong nation over him, dominating him, but there was an opposite voice that whispered and repeated words of lust and desire, of trust and exhilaration. England chose to listen to that voice, let America slip a hand across his crotch again, fisting his cock and holding firm. He focused on the feel, on the way his body thrummed with pleasure, ignited in burning desire. 

A moan snaked out of him, which America eagerly swallowed. America nipped at England’s tongue. England moaned again, as he hadn’t expected that and it felt much better than he’d have thought, sharp enough to focus his attention on the now, on the physical presence of America towering over him, straddling him, touching him. Absorbing him. 

He shifted his hands, his legs, parting them. He gripped America’s shoulders, digging his short, blunt nails into the soft, golden flesh. He twisted, lifted his knees, looped his legs around the other man’s waist and hooked them there tight, muscles trembling with the effort. He let America’s callused, rough—but warm, so warm—hands chart the contours and dips of his body. He felt their cocks connect, press and rub together and both gasped, America’s loud and shaking, England’s like a dying man’s. Their eyes fluttered and found one another, eyes lidded. 

“Fuck me,” England commanded, gasping as America’s cock rubbed against his own, sent tendrils of pleasure shooting through his body until his vision blurred and he couldn’t even see America. He thrust up against America, the friction and dryness between them too much. He clenched his eyes shut, did not plead but his voice was rasping: “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”

He heard the drawer in the bedside table slide open, watched America pull out lube, a small tube he clenched in his hand, popped the cap. He watched as America squeezed a liberal amount into his hands, rubbed them together, staring down at England who stared back up at him, panting, body arched and widened, legs spread for him, one droplet of sweat sliding from his temple and into his hair. 

“Fuck me,” England mouthed, but did not say the actual words. But the unspoken words were heard loud and clear, shocking America straight down to his cock, which he fisted in a lube-coated hand and pumped, slicking himself up while his free hand pushed forward, sliding over the length of England’s cock, behind his sac and into the cleft of his ass. England shivered from the touch, felt his hips jerk and thrust. The tip of America’s index finger slipped past the ring of muscles and stopped. England inhaled sharply, tensing up. 

“Fuck,” America breathed, “You’re so tight.”

England closed his eyes, arched his hips slightly and bit back the keening whimper that he deemed far too undignified. America squeezed his finger all the way in, twisting and rubbing against the inside.

America leaned in close, breathed hot into England’s ear, panting. “So tight, England. Fuck.” 

“Will you fit?” England whispered, voice ragged with lust and expectation. He swiveled his hips, grinding down on America’s finger.

America squirmed, rubbing his hardened cock against England’s thigh as the words sank into his brain and exploded. He bit his lip, swallowed a thick moan and rubbed against England, rotating his finger and hooking as he did so. He slid in a second finger, felt England swallow him with obscene wet noises and the thrusts of his hips as he humped against America’s fingers, smearing lube across his inner thighs with the movements, spreading and pressing his fingers into England, trying to stretch him out. He was so tight, so small in there. The heat was burning him up and America licked his lips, tried to swallow around a throat that was suddenly far too dry. He leaned in, licking at England’s jaw, tasting his own cum on his lips. England moaned, mouthed his name, mouthed another plea to be fucked. 

“Going to fuck you,” America promised and England moaned low.

America hesitated, stretched England, gripping his thigh to spread his legs further as he pressed a third finger into the impossible tightness, felt England stiffen up and hiss out a small moment of pain. America froze, staring at England with wide eyes as the other nation clenched his eyes shut, tensed up around America, shoulders hunching.

“Fuck,” England said, and it didn’t sound quite the same as the times before, more pained this time.

America frowned, eyebrows knitting. “England?”

“Hurts,” England clarified.

“Oh—I’ll…” America trailed off, moving to take his fingers out of England, to reassess the situation. He could be fucked by England instead, let England take him, ride him and pump his cock until he sprayed his cum all over him again and again and again—

But England grasped his wrist when he tried to retreat, eyes flickering open and staring at him. “Don’t you dare stop now. If you do, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“But I’m hurting you,” America protested, and shivered when England’s thumb stroked along his wrist, guiding America’s hand back into England again, three fingers pushed inside of him, spreading and coating him with lube.

“I like it,” England whispered, shifting to thrust his hips down onto America’s hand, urging him to add his fourth finger. When he did so, England hissed in pain, in the pleasure, threw his head back to loll against the bed sheets, body arching and legs trembling as he spread them to America. His cock stood at attention, weeping, inviting for America’s touch. 

“Okay,” America breathed, stretching England as much as he could but he was so impossibly tight, the space so cramped and inviting, warm and burning. “Okay…”

“Fuck,” England said again, and the pleasure was back, though his body still twitched with pain when America spread a bit too quickly. He hesitated, staring at England’s face, waiting for him to tell him to stop, waiting for him to insist that America turn over and be fucked instead.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” America said softly, not so blinded by desire as to completely disregard England. “Remember that.”

England’s eyes fluttered slightly and he moaned. “I will. But I won’t have to. Or want to.” 

America didn’t answer, just pushed into England, waiting for him to tell him to stop. 

But it never came, instead, England’s eyes opened and he stared at America in frustration. He moaned quietly, America’s name, or at least what could have been America’s name. He grasped America’s cock, harshly, tugging forward. America obeyed, letting England guide him to his entrance, with America’s fingers still pushed up inside him. He panted at America, mouth open and lax, his eyes lidded, the cum still clinging to his eyebrows and eyelashes, begging to be licked. England’s hand pushed America’s cock, sought out his entrance, relocating him to the proper place. America pulled his fingers from England, reached up to grasp his hips instead as England guided his cock home, up into England. America hesitated and England, with a small roll of his eyes, threw his hips down before America could thrust up. They both made sounds like dying men. 

It hurt, it burned, and it stung. England gasped in pain just from the cockhead pressing against his ring of muscles, struggling to shove past into the tight, suffocating heat. England curled up, inched his way onto America’s cock, forcing himself to relax through the haze of pleasure and pain. He inched his way down America’s cock, taking little breaks to adjust to the intrusion, to the girth and length of America’s cock. It was painful, it burned and stretched England in ways he didn’t know he could be stretched, demanded so much space and, once it felt as if England may have adjusted, demand even more space. He was filled with America, and he wasn’t even all the way home yet. England couldn’t bite back a tiny whimper and America leaned forward, kissing him. England returned the kiss, hungry for his touch, for his tongue, for his cock. 

They pulled away as America pushed more into England. England lifted himself, straddled America, pushed himself down onto America, to better control the cock entering him, wanting so much more but knowing he had to be patient. America whimpered as England bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark though not to draw blood. He lathed his tongue over the spot, bathed the golden, sweating skin with his tongue before curling his way up his neck and licking the slit of his mouth until it opened to him. He traced his lips over his jaw, bit his earlobe. He murmured dirty, obscene expletives into America’s ear to distract himself from the pain of having the cock shoved into him, filling him in a way he’d never been filled before. 

He hissed the words in his ear, elaborate curses. It was the only sound he could make now and he grasped at America’s bare shoulders, dragging his nails across the skin, leaving angry, jagged red marks that marked America as his. He licked at the shell of his ear and promised him dirty, horrible things, dirty promises that caused America’s cock to twitch, for the groans and moans to bubble past America’s tightened throat. His eyes clenched shut. England cooed the obscenities, traced his tongue along the shell of his ear again as he made dirty fantasies come alive, cursed and blessed America and his name and his cock, swiveled his hips to take him in more and more until the pleasure overrode the pain and all he had was America and America’s breath against his shoulder, America’s nails digging into his hips, America’s cock inside of him. 

America’s grip on his hips tightened and he shoved England down the rest of the way, the words too much for him. He hissed out England’s name as his cock slid all the way home, pushed into that tight heat and sent England’s head tipping back, shouting out more curses as his entire body quaked from the abrupt surge of pain. America pleaded to him, opened his mouth and did not beg but demanded and crooned and beckoned. He mouthed England’s name, clenched his eyes shut and held on, as though he would stay inside of England forever, with a long, strangled moan that was almost like someone begging, almost. A strangled sob. 

His breathing came uneven, and his throat was long since dry, parched, begging for the taste of England, to have every moment taste of England. The tightness and the heat was suffocating and he mouthed breathlessly at nothing as England arched over him and kissed the corner of his eyes where the suffocation was squeezing out of him in the form of tears. When he blinked his eyes open he could see the tears in England’s eyes, too, and he blinked rapidly as tears and cum blinded his vision. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” America marveled, face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment at the way his words sounded too raw, too parched—always starving.

England smiled, swiveled his hips to beckon more movement, cried out as America pulled him down into each thrust, hard, harder, pressing up and in deep as he could bury himself. He didn’t let go of England’s hips, thrusting into him, didn’t stop the nails dragging over his skin, sharp as claws and leaving more angry red marks that stung and burned, not nearly as hot as the heat radiating from inside England.

“I could fuck you all day,” America whispered in his ear.

England worked his mouth a moment, open and vacant as he struggled to speak. “That,” he gasped out, biting America’s earlobe, “was the plan, yes?” 

“Hope you aren’t already tired, old man,” America said with a breathless laugh as he thrust up into England and watched him tense up with the pleasure and the pain, before shoving his hips back down to meet America. “Haven’t even reached your bedtime yet.”

“If you can find the energy to make fun of me, you can stand to fuck me harder, little boy,” England shot back, fingers curling along the ridges of his spine, twisting and pressing up against America. America felt England’s erect cock press against the lines of his chest as England writhed against him, pressing his face to his neck and kissing and biting him. “Or,” he whispered, “will you be able to stay up past _your_ bedtime? Shall I give you a bottle of milk?” 

“Bastard,” America murmured without malice, tipping his head back. He thrust up, harshly, delighted in the ragged gasp that ripped out of England’s throat. “I could make a really awful joke about milk right now.”

“Please restrain yourself, luv,” England muttered, biting at his neck. 

“Kay,” America panted, thrusting into that tight heat again. 

He wrapped his hand around England’s cock, pumping it and squeezing it tightly, biting at England’s bottom lip when the older nation sent out a rattling gasp. America slammed his way home, rocking England’s body, gripping him tightly enough to bruise, aiming to make England so sore he wouldn’t be able to sit properly, aiming to make him so pliant there was no resistance. But England liked the pain—he was moaning, writhing, calling out only for America.

He didn’t stop pulling and pumping the cock until he felt England tighten up again, tighter than ever around America’s cock and reached his orgasm, crying out, nails digging into flesh, shouting to the ceiling as ribbons of white cum streamed onto his panting stomach and chest. America stared at him, kissed his throat and smeared his hand through the cum on England’s stomach, dragging his nails and tracing invisible words through the cum, coating England’s chest in it before lifting his hand and stroking the hair from England’s face, tangling his cum-soaked fingers in the disheveled hair.

England panted at him, eyes glazed, mouth agape in harsh panting as he rode out his orgasm, grinding down on the cock inside him, humping against America as America sucked one of his fingers into his mouth, tasting England’s cum. America brushed his fingers over England’s lips, coated his own cum over his mouth and smiled at him, felt one drop slip from over the line of his bottom lip and drizzle slowly down over his chin. England moaned, leaned their foreheads together. 

“You are making me into a right mess,” England whispered, and moaned as America licked cum from his lips and chin.

America smiled. He twisted his fingers over England’s chest, collecting more cum on his two fingers before pressing them against England’s mouth. England obeyed his silent command, opening his mouth and letting America push the fingers into his mouth, watching England suck on it harshly, scraping his teeth over his knuckles, licking at his own cum and sucking the fingers deep into his mouth. England grasped his wrist, massaging the back of his hand absently, kneading it as if milking America, curling his tongue around the digits and staring straight at America with hooded eyes. America shifted his other hand, hooked his thumb between his teeth and forced his jaw open, leaning in to kiss his mouth, tongue battling for room with his own two fingers. England moaned against him America ran his tongue over England’s, his fingers scraping along the roof of his mouth absently, keeping his eyes open as England kept his eyes open, their eyes never drifting from one another as America continued to thrust up into England.

“You’re so tight, England,” America whispered against his mouth, watched England swallow those words. “You’re so tight and so small in there, it doesn’t matter how hard I stretch you, my cock’s just too big for you, isn’t it?” England didn’t answer, only panted and bucked against him. “I love being inside you, babe. Even if it’s a tight fit you take me all the way in, don’t you, and you love it. It’s so hot in there, it’s burning. I love knowing it’s my cock inside of you, filling you with my cum, making you scream.”

“Ah,” England gasped as America punctuated his words with a thrust. “Fuck me.”

“You love it when I fuck you, don’t you? Tell me what you like. I love feeling you swallow my dick up to its hilt. So greedy, England. Greedy, wanting all of me inside you until you split in two.” 

“I love it, god I love it,” England moaned. 

He thrust harshly up into England and gasped against England’s shoulder, kissing his collarbone as he thrust harder and harder, pushing in and pulling out almost to the cockhead before slamming back into him, shaking England’s entire frame as he moaned loudly, responding to America’s words visibly, his cock already plumping up between them. 

England’s nails scraped down America’s chest, meeting each of America’s violent thrusts, moaning and thrashing his head from side to side.

“God,” America gasped, losing control. His entire body shook, down to his bones. He knew he was close. He thrust harder, knowing that England could handle it, knowing that someone weaker would break from the harsh thrusting. “God,” he gasped again. “I’ll fuck you until you’re covered in cum, and it comes pouring out of you, baby. I’ll fuck you until my cum and cock can’t fit inside you at the same time without the cum leaking out of you with each thrust.”

America’s words soon fell away to incoherent moans and syllables that may have once been England’s name. He gave one last final thrust, grasped England’s hips and ground them into him and felt his body tighten as he released his cum inside of England, filling him now with wet, wet heat. His eyes glazed over in pleasure and confusion, moaning England’s name and staying inside him, pressing his seed into him, until England began to stir again. 

England pulled away slowly, straightened, giving him a sated smile. America didn’t pull out of him, even after he’d gone soft. The lust was still pooling in his stomach, refusing to budge. They still had a long night in front of them. How beautifully the bruises were standing out on his body, how stunning the cum was on his body, clinging to him and the slight sheen of sweat. 

England reached out with one long-fingered hand to stroke the bite marks on the other man’s jaw and neck. He smiled, a small little smirk. He licked along his jaw, cum-laced eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he did so. 

Hesitantly, America pushed England away, onto his back, and slipped out of him. England cringed slightly in pain, hissed low in his throat, though the smile still stayed on his lips. America stared at his handiwork a moment before scooping England up, pushing him slightly off the bed so his bottom half stayed up on the bed with America, while his shoulders planted themselves on the floor. Upside down, England stared at him with a slightly miffed, but curious, expression.

“I don’t want it to drip out of you until I say so,” America whispered and bit at England’s inner thigh. England shivered and closed his eyes.

“And you call me the greedy one,” England whispered back, but he let America move him as he saw fit, kept his cum inside of him, prevented it from dripping out of him. 

America pressed forward, peppered England’s thighs with open-mouthed kisses, licking at the sweat, delighting in the way the muscles quivered under his attentions. He ran his tongue over the length of England’s flaccid cock, pressing his tongue along the underside at the base, before drifting to suck one testicle into his mouth. England cried out, still sated but by no means unappreciative for more attention. One finger pressed into England again and god if he wasn’t still just as tight, though the entrance was warm and wet from the cum still pressed inside of him. His finger pumped in and out effortlessly, England filled with cum and lube, making the entrance slick and inviting for America. All he needed was to get hard again. 

He slid his mouth off England just as England’s moans were becoming more guttural, any discernable word floating away into mumbled incoherency. 

“Flip over,” America instructed but then did it for England, turning him so his folded arms supported his chin on the ground, his back curving in America’s vision, hands gripping his hips tightly. He shifted his hands, planting them on the small of his back, moving his knees in order to spread England’s legs, revealing his rounded backside. “God,” he whispered, “England…” 

England shifted, pressing up slightly, using the palms of his hands for support as he pushed himself slightly off the floor, ass and legs still stretched out on the bed, pinned beneath America’s bulk. Scooting his legs between England’s, America rubbed against him, trying to rekindle his erection. 

“The stamina of a superpower is really to be envied,” England said absently as America pressed absent kisses to England’s shoulder blades and humped dryly against him, grinding and reminding his cock just how nice it felt to be inside England. 

“Heh,” was all America could think to say, his brain short-circuited on deriving pleasure and giving pleasure to England, head filled with nothing but obscene, dirty things to do with the other nation. “And what about old empires?” 

“Also to be envied,” England said with a soft chuckle that trailed off in a small gasp as America thrust particularly hard against the cleft of England’s ass. “You have to be very energetic if the aforementioned superpower has plans to fuck you all night long.” 

“I don’t hear you complaining,” America said and grinned, despite himself, feeling his cheeks redden with pride, felt his heart throb once in his chest, to remind him that he was completely hopeless when it came to England, whether the other man knew it or not. 

“Because I’m not. On the contrary, it’s very much the opposite,” England drawled, tilting his head to stare up at America over his shoulder. 

America grasped England’s arms and pulling them behind England. England arched up, his upper body completely supported, effortlessly, by America’s strength, the rest of him still pinned beneath him on the bed. He stayed suspended, which was undoubtedly an odd position he found himself in, something he did not often experience. America pressed up against him, smoothed behind him and rubbing against England’s ass. He felt his cock stir and pulled harder on England’s arms, forcing his shoulder blades together as America leaned down, kissing at his spine and the back of his neck, licking at the sweat there and tracing the marks on England’s body as if connecting dots. 

“Bastard, the things you do to me,” England moaned, but did not pull away from America’s grasp. It was just as well, as doing so would probably end up with a rather large crack to the head on the ground below. 

America grinned, dry humping England harder in order to reawaken his cock. It stirred further though there was still a bit more to go. He grasped England’s wrists, pulling him up further, slipping his cock between England’s legs, felt his cockhead poke between the back of England’s balls and the warm mattress beneath them. England moaned, though sounded as if he were trying to stifle it. He ducked his head, exposing the bones of his neck. America bit at the skin there. He rocked against England, feeling his cock stiffen up between England’s legs. One hand curled around, squeezed underneath the flattened body and the warm bed sheets, feeling England’s own cock, testing for the thickness and hardness. England was well on his way to being hard again, too. The hand slid up his chest, following the maps left by scars and cum streaks. 

“Like that, baby?” America murmured in England’s ear.

“If you have to ask—”

“I know,” America whispered, pushing England back down to the floor. England’s hands pressed against the ground, back arching at the sudden force. America humped against his ass again, slipping his finger inside England and twisting. “God, how can you be so tight?”

“How many times are you going to ask me that—aaah,” England gasped, lowering his head again from where he was about to give America a glare.

That little cry was enough. America removed his finger and pushed his cock into England. It was still impossibly tight, impossibly hot and crowded with his load of cum, soon to be joined by a second. 

“God, I want you,” England breathed, thickly, raggedly, like a man in church down on his knees and praying for the impossible. His back was certainly arched in an angle that should have been impossible, America thought, but damn if it wasn’t hot as hell to see England at his mercy, that England wanted to be at his mercy. 

His breath caught as America pushed all the way in to him, and he trembled with the effort of holding his body up and remaining relaxed enough for America to enter without any problem. He shuddered slightly in pain as America’s large, probably too large, cock slid into him, filled him so completely again. 

America breathed raggedly against England’s back, mouth open and panting. England moaned. Trembling with the effort of holding himself up and holding America in, he let out a soft yelp of aching surprise as America jerked his hips up, once, and then another, longer, lower sound that transformed into an appreciative, almost needy moan as he finally could take America no further. He stayed perfectly still for a few moments as did America, catching his breath and shaking with the sensation of being filled, of being so unbearably, pleasantly warm.

“Yessssssss,” he let out in a small, breathless moan. 

England’s legs shifted and he wrapped his legs around America’s, locking him place. And then he ground his hips back, rotated slightly with America still inside him, hissing in pain but sending America into a choked shout. 

England’s body was beneath him and was supple and sweet. America pressed his hands against England’s lower back, massaging the quivering muscles there and sending England into choked sobs of pleasure. He rolled his hips, pushing in and out of England, searching for his prostate, searching for what would send him spiraling into incoherency again. Eventually, America found the angle and he did his best to drive England home, thrusting relentlessly against that one spot, reveling in the way that England arched and twitched and writhed, humping fruitlessly against the mattress, fingers curling desperately into the hotel room’s carpeting. 

England writhed, opening his mouth in what might have been a groan, had his throat not suddenly constricted to the point of cutting off any sound and any air. He was burning up, he was stretching and splitting from the girth pushed into him, from having America in him, again, finally—hot. It was so hot. His body resisted the intrusion, split in pain, throbbed and spiked. But England kept moaning, kept his eyes clenched shut and letting the pain and pleasure absorb him until there was nothing but America. America’s hands on him, America’s breath ragged above him, America’s cock in him.

The blood was roaring in his ears, and though his eyes were shut he could still see flashes of color, of white-hot pleasure that surged through his body. But all he could do was hear and feel, so even if he couldn’t quite focus on anything beside America, he knew America was there—it was impossible to focus on anything but America. 

America continued to move, grinding more than thrusting now. England might have whimpered, but it was impossible to know. His accuracy seemed to drop with every passing moment, his cock slipping haphazard inside England and missing the prostate each time. But the friction and heat was enough to send both men over the edge, regardless. He moved sloppily, but England was still moaning, still shuddering in pleasure mixed with the remaining tendrils of pain as the cock forced its way inside England.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. When he blinked his eyes open the carpet was a blinding fuzz and he could see nothing past the stars America was making him see. So he kept his eyes squeezed shut, threw his head back to clear his face of his hair and of the carpet, mouth open wide, tongue working and sound failing to escape as America continued to drill into him, brushing across that same spot occasionally or just filling him until he was stuffed, unable to move or breathe. He made a sound as if he had been shot, strangled and hurting—desperate. He tensed before he could continue moving, choking on words he wouldn’t have been able to say anyway. 

“You’re holding back,” England managed to pant. He pressed his forehead against the carpet, worshipped the world that made this situation entirely possible, which made it so that it was America dominating him, holding him, guiding him. It was America, it had always had to have been America. “Your strength—aaah.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” America breathed. He already was, he knew it. But England liked it. And deep down, America knew he liked it, too. He liked knowing England trusted him enough not to break him completely. 

He thrust down again and he knew England had found his surrender as his body pulsed with orgasm, semen spraying over his belly and the mattress and floor as he shuddered beneath America. He cried out as he came, the sound a formless, heart-rending gasp. He stayed shaking even after his body began to calm down, his body shivering and quaking from the force of his orgasm. 

America wished he could see what England looked like in that moment. But all rational thought fell away on the onslaught of his own orgasm, coming to him in a rush. He choked, felt his chest heave as he blacked out for a moment, thrusting one last time into England before releasing a second load of cum inside him. His mouth opened and dragged in slow, almost forced-sounding breaths after his body finished shuddering, limp inside of England. 

Weariness came down on both of them heavily, and both remained where they were for a long moment, both panting and greedily sucking in air. Sweat and cum clung to them, blurring their vision, parching their throats. Then America shifted, wrapping his arms around England’s wrist and leaning back, lifting the pliant man effortlessly into his lap, sitting on the bed and still panting, resting his chin on England’s shoulder. 

England lolled his head to the side, and their eyes locked. Then without a word they pressed their mouths together, breathing the same air, or just forgetting to breathe all together. England lifted a boneless arm and wrapped it around America’s neck, fingers curling into his golden hair, stroking the side of his face absently, a fond smile on his lips. 

“You are perfectly lovely,” England told him. 

“Awww, thanks, babe,” America said, feeling both giddy and chipper as he felt England slump against him, the older nation rolling his eyes. America nuzzled against his neck, kissing away the sweat. “Tired?”

“Mmf,” England grunted and America wasn’t sure if it was meant to be agreement or disagreement. The answer became clear a moment later when England clarified: “A moment of respite may do me well.” 

“Yeah,” America agreed, and pulled England from his lap, laying him down on his stomach to keep the cum from dripping out of him. It seemed he was perfectly serious about not letting any escape, if he could help it. England sank into the mattress with a sigh, resting his face on a pillow and watching as America crawled over to join him, sliding up flush to England, hooking one leg over him and pinning him to the mattress and to America’s body.

England made a rather content, happy noise, though if pressed about it he would adamantly denied it existed. His hands smoothed over America’s skin absently. They soon lapsed into a light sleep, holding each other in their arms. 

 

\---

 

England woke up about an hour later, a short nap, partially because a car alarm went off outside and also because he could feel America smoothing a hand over his ass softly, cupping one cheek and then the other, thumb swiping languid lines across his skin, over his thighs, and up over the small of his lower back. England opened his eyes, sighed contently, and shifted his attention to America, who was leaning on his side, resting his head on his other hand and smiling lazily at England.

“Hey there, good lookin’,” America greeted. The hand stayed on England and America grinned. “Or should I say ‘bootyful’?” 

England snorted, arched his back slowly, mindful not to shift his backside and discourage America’s hand, or let the cum he could still feel inside of him slip out, since it seemed America was content to keep it inside of him. 

“That was a god-awful pun and you should be ashamed of yourself,” England announced. He shook his head, pushing the hair from his face and feeling it stick up in odd places, undoubtedly from when America had wiped cum into it, the stupid idiot. He dropped his hand away and stretched out slowly, feeling much like a cat in that respect. He half-expected America to make some snide comment but it seemed the other nation was content just to watch his movements. England yawned and felt his jaw pop before he leaned in and kissed America on the lips, who happily returned the gesture with a small hum of enthusiasm. England pulled away, smiling, and licked his lips. He added, after a moment, “Also, there isn’t much of a ‘booty’ there to begin with, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, but what’s there is totally mine.” America’s grin was rather smug, much like a cat after eating the canary. 

“Indeed,” England said with a roll of his eyes, though his cheeks did warm at the confidence, borderline arrogance, to which America laid claim to his ass. Perhaps in some ridiculous way it could be considered romantic, though admittedly England was torn between being touched and just laughing in the boy’s face. 

“Hey,” America said, brightening up as he was struck by another one of his stupidly brilliant (or brilliantly stupid) ideas, “Someday you should wear a pirate outfit, speaking of booty.”

“You are impossible,” England said. He rolled his eyes and almost rolled over before thinking better of it and sinking into the mattress, sighing and pressing his face into the pillow. America’s hand resumed its earlier movements, touch gentle and encouraging. England felt something inside of him stir and he lifted his head, eyes narrowed and face flushing. “Are you up for another round or are you content to merely talk about it, dear?” 

“What do you think?” America asked, and something in his eyes flickered.

England smirked. “There’s a love. Get on with it, then. I’m awake now.” 

America needed no further prompting, and the hand sliding over his ass moved with more purpose now, slipping between the cheeks and pressing against him. England sighed, content, still sated from their activities the hour before. He relaxed against America’s touch as a finger slid inside him, body tight around him but by no means unused to the penetration. The cum was still inside him, making the penetration easier. He felt America’s lips on the back of his neck mouthing words though he did not divine their meaning, simply lying in incoherency and sleep-addled ignorance. He was terribly tight despite being relaxed, but the pain that fluttered through his body, reawakening him from the half-sleepy state he found himself in, was both thrilling and arousing. The way he could feel America’s eyes on his face told him that America agreed. 

England felt his cock swell against the mattress with America’s continued ministrations, arching and squeezing his finger inside of England. He added a second finger and England felt himself spread and stretch, never enough to accommodate America’s cock. America’s thick fingers pushed at his opening and England arched, throat working furiously to simultaneously pull air into his lung and swallow the runoff from his saliva. America’s mouth moved as his fingers moved, hot puffs of air moving up his back, each kiss warring with the hand inside him for supremacy of the senses. For his attention. England ached. He yearned. He wanted.

“America,” he whispered, his voice breathless and needy. 

“Tell me what you feel,” America suggested, commanded, against his back, slipping another finger inside of England, stretching him and preparing. 

America watched the way England’s body writhed under his hands with a single-mindedness that bordered on obsession, hunger, and lust. They warred for dominance. He gave in to it all, gave into the intoxicating way England moaned, in the way he moved. He thrilled in knowing it was all for him, all for them. They were alone, it was only them. Already this night was turning into everything he wanted and more. 

England concentrated on breathing, resting his forehead against the pillow, pliant, waiting for America to move him, to twist him to the shape he wanted, to grind and pound into him against until he was sobbing for more. His body quivered in expectation, shuddered around the fingers prodding inside him. 

He swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts in order to concentrate on answering America. He moved his mouth: “I—”

He cut off abruptly as the fingers struck the chord within him, snapping his body to attention. America could play him like a fiddle, he was completely and utterly his and he could do nothing to stop it. He let out a shuttering cry, writhing against his hand, turning his face to stare at America hungrily over his shoulder. 

“Want more,” was all he could manage to say, and silently berated himself for disregarding proper grammatical skills, but then America shifted his fingers to strike his prostate again and all thoughts of proper English flew fast out the window. “It’s hot.”

“Tell me about it,” America moaned in agreement, squirming against the mattress himself to try to relieve the pressure from his own boner. He grinned, felt his own breathing come ragged as he moaned quietly—moaning and England wasn’t even _touching_ him. 

“Make it hotter,” England commanded, eyes glinting in the night. 

America’s grin widened. “You got it, babe.” 

He pulled his hand from England and even with the cum inside him, he felt unspeakably empty. He felt America shift on the bed, drop off it. He grasped England around the ankles, dragging him across the bed. England groaned as his erection dragged across the sheets, letting America pull him to the edge of the bed until his legs were hanging off, hands grasping his thighs, his ass right on the edge of the bed. America stepped between his legs, spreading them. England was still on his stomach. 

The hands holding England’s legs up were powerful, and he felt the equally as powerful cock press against the top of his ass, pressing into his cleft and sliding downward, searching out the hole, to fill England again—to make him complete.

America slipped slowly into him, inch by agonizing inch. England choked and bit into the bed sheet to keep from crying out indecently. The hands gripping his thighs held on tightly and he felt America shift, spreading his legs and pushing into him further—that tight heat. 

America pushed a little more into him, rocking England’s body. They both cried out, England a distant moan, America a loud gasp at the pleasure at being inside England again—it’d only been an hour but it seemed too long. How was he to be without England after this night—how could he possibly survive another month of not holding him? Not having him? 

“More,” England gasped. “Fill me up, America. More. More. _Fill me._ ” 

The legs in his hold flexed and when America glanced behind him, he saw England’s toes curling in pleasure. He bit his lip, chewed on it viciously as he slammed his way into England, rocking his body and causing the man to gasp in pain, only for it to drift away in a pleased moan. England arched, eyes rolling into the back of his head a moment and toes curling before he bucked against America, inviting him closer. America stood over him, staring down at the back of his neck with parted lips as he thrust experimentally into him. 

Full and hurting and numb. England wanted it. His body screamed for America, to be filled with America. He moaned, he bucked. He arched his back, bending his spine and forcing the cock deeper inside him, as deep as it seemed possible to go without shattering England in two, without shattering America as he let out a guttural, gasping moan. 

He felt as if he was burning from the inside out, burning and igniting. His vision blurred and he chewed on the bed sheet to stifle his moans. The room smelled of sex, musk on musk, salt and sweat—

“More,” he whispered. “Harder.” 

“Fuck,” America cursed, faltering at the command, at the request. His voice sounded too broken as he shoved his way in and out of England, supine for only him. 

The hands grasping England’s thighs shifted, shoving them up onto the bed again, spread wide so he could enter England with less resistance. England shifted, pushing himself up on his elbows and his knees, feeling America follow him. Except he felt America pushing him, pushing his legs to where he wanted them to be. And before he could register what was happening, America had scooped him up, England’s back to America’s chest, and was holding him up in the air as he thrust up into him. 

The tips of England’s toes grazed the bed and England moaned, throwing his head back to loll over America’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded as he stared at America. America’s face was set in determination, holding England up and bobbing his entire body up and down upon his cock. With his strength, the movement seemed almost effortless. He could move and hold England as much as he wanted without ever getting tired, utilizing his superior strength to his heart’s content. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face and England darted out his tongue lazily to lick it up for him, lips darting over his jaw as he let himself be moved up and down against America, letting the younger nation, stronger, do the work and move him. He rode America, feeling strangely weightless as he moved through the air, with nothing to cling to. He arched, lifted his arms over his head to wrap around America’s neck and cling to him as America moaned, thrust again, and moved England a bit more frenzied. 

“You’ll ruin me,” England said in a breathless whisper, lips grazing over his jaw. “I’m ruined—and I love it.”

America didn’t respond, unable to form a coherent word as he thrust up into England, grinding his hips and entering him as deeply as he could, choking and suffocating on the strangling heat and tightness of England’s body. He did, however, manage to capture England’s mouth and kiss him, their tongues battling against each other as America continued the steady pace of pushing England up and down along the length of his cock. 

America felt the cum dripping out of England and he felt that moment of fierce protectiveness to keep it inside, no matter how irrational he realized the feeling was, and shifted their positions again. America brought England’s feet back down onto the bed, shifting the hold from the bottom of his thighs and ass to push against England’s back. England unhooked his arms from around America, letting the man guide him to what he wanted. His hands pressed down onto the bed. America still inside him, he let America push his forehead to the bed, resting it and his arms on the surface of the bed sheets, his ass in the air and pressed against America. America stood behind him, grabbed one of his ankles and forced it upward to rest against his hip. England kept his knee slightly bent and shifted his weight to the leg that was on the ground now. 

America thrust up and England’s entire body rattled. It shook him to his bones. He moaned, felt the cum spill out despite America’s best efforts, probably making a horrible mess on the floor, though he couldn’t see it. America thrust into him, reaching his climax and crying out, his cum joining the two other loads inside of England, pushing out of him and filling him. He felt it slide down his thighs. England moaned, loud and shameless, and nested thick and broken in the sound of America’s name.

“A-a-aaaah-A-me-ri-caaaaa.”

And then all thought ceased and England spent the next several moments shuddering hard and violently, bone-deep tremors clamoring up and down his body. His body shuddered and, again, dirtied his chest with his own cum. 

America stayed still as England climaxed, gripping him and steadying him. He waited until England seemed to relax enough to whisper, “Can you stand?”

England shook his head. “The moment you let go of me is the moment I collapse.” 

America kissed at his shoulder and shifted, moving so he was cradling England against him, depositing him on the bed, still inside him, and crawling over him. England breathed in a hiss, trying to redraw enough air to his lungs to function. He licked his lips, trying to pretend his breath wasn’t coming fast. He swallowed thickly and looked away and back again. 

“What about you?” England asked when America didn’t resume any movements, just watched England trying to regain some semblance of control. One finger curled down England’s chest, spreading the semen across his chest. 

“What about me?” America asked, sucking the finger into his mouth.

“You’re still hard. And inside me,” England reminded him, as if America could have forgotten. America continued to suck on his finger, staring down at England. England raised his eyebrows at him, felt a stirring in his groin again at the image.

America smiled at him, blue eyes warm. England sighed and lifted his arms, wrapping them around America’s shoulders and drawing him closer. 

“I hope you aren’t waiting for something, boy. I think we’ve already established that you can be rough.” 

“Yeah, but—”

“Now is definitely not the time to be coy,” England decided, wrapped his legs around America’s waist, and flipped them over so that England was on top, America’s cock still buried inside him. He pressed his palms to the bed, leaning in close. He smiled. “Let me take care of you for now, then.”

“England—”

England didn’t stop to listen, just swiveled his hips, shifting America’s body forward with every rocking motion. Soon America’s head was hanging off the bed from the movement across the mattress and he lifted his head to watch England buck against him. But soon his shoulders were off the bed, too, and England continued to grind against him, rendering America boneless. His arms flopped above his head and he let his head fall back. It felt as if he was falling and he cried out softly as he neared his release and England was still so tight and still riding him hard. 

The older nation turned his hips slightly from side to side, bucking against the cock and watching America’s reactions, tucking away the looks and noises for a later date, to remind him in the times when they were to be separated by work or by ocean. His movements became more harried, riding America and pulling America closer and closer to his release. 

And then America’s cock struck his prostate again and he cried out. He shifted his body to accommodate, to strike that spot repeatedly. He lifted his hips and snapped them back down. America was fluid below him, head tipped back to the ceiling, off the bed. He cried out weakly to England and England swiveled his hips in accordance before slamming his hips down and hitting his prostate with the tip of America’s cock. He rode him desperately, his movements harsh and rough, his body exploding in pain and in pleasure. He was getting hard again, the jolts of pleasure impossible to ignore. 

He watched America stiffen up, arch his body like a bow, and then grunted out England’s name. Warmth spread inside of England as the other nation emptied himself inside of England once again. America panted, his chest heaving, as he bucked his hips up inelegantly to meet England, to push more seed inside of him even as more slid out indecently down his thighs and pooling in the crevices of America’s body. But he had no doubt that the boy would continue to replace what had been lost. 

America heaved and finally lifted his head again to stare at England. His eyes found the erection already standing there again and smiled. “Did it feel good for you, baby?”

England flushed but smiled. “Shall I show you how good it was?”

America looked as if the question short-circuited his brain before he just gave a jerky little nod, curious to see what England meant. England smiled, a low, sultry smile, and slid a finger up his own body, curling in the cum on his chest, over the lines of his neck, the dip of his chin, before sucking it into his mouth, wetting it. America stared at him, slack-jawed. England pulled the wet finger from his mouth, rubbed it in the cum on his chest again, before reaching behind him.

America felt a finger press against his own ass and he gasped loudly as it pushed inside. 

“It seems,” England said, breathless, his forehead beaded with sweat, “I’m not the only one who’s tight, hm?”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” was all America managed to say before England’s finger was twisting and pushing inside him, searching for something. He bit his lip, unsure what to do or say. It felt strange, but not unpleasantly so. He breathed raggedly through his open mouth as England continued to search for something. He didn’t move, for fear of his limp cock falling out of England’s ass.

And then England undoubtedly found what he was searching for because as his fingertip brushed over something inside him his body suddenly stiffened up and he gasped loudly. England grinned in triumph and brushed that spot again, harder this time. America squirmed, biting his lip and bucking against the hand. England was merciless, stroking and prodding that spot repeatedly, giving America no time for respite. He cried out to England, his voice gurgling from pleasure in his attempts to swallow while still lying with his head off the bed. 

“Fuuuuck,” America whined as England continued to play with his prostate, not adding a second finger in case of hurting him, but using the singular finger to torture him slowly with pleasure. 

He was hard again almost instantly, still pressed inside of England. England felt it swell, felt it fill him and stiffen inside him, already in the place it was meant to be. He laughed, breathlessly, and America wasn’t in the right mind to repeat the gesture, his mouth flopped open in silent cries for more, more—

But before England could bring him to orgasm simply by pushing that one button, England pulled his hand away and America actually whimpered from the loss of contact, blearily lifting his head to stare at England, who smiled back at him once their eyes met. 

“Oh my God, England,” was all America could manage to say. 

England grinned in triumph. “Like that, did you?”

“Fuck,” was America’s intelligent agreement. 

England bucked his hips, sliding his body over the stiff cock inside him. “Seems you’re ready for another round now aren’t you, big boy?”

“God, how did it take me this long to realize that you’re really fucking hot?” America asked, rhetorically, because on some level he’d always known that England was attractive, even from before they were together, but he’d never envisioned that England would be this wanton, this confident, when in bed with him. 

“Well,” England said, and it was with some delight that America realized England was blushing at the remark, despite the smile still playing across his mouth. “I seem to recall tonight was in order to make up for lost time. Your lack of observation can fit into that nicely.”

“Yeah,” America agreed.

England’s eyes flickered in amusement. He leaned in close, pushing his hands behind America’s head to lift him up and kiss him. Despite their activities all night, this kiss was surprisingly chaste, and England pulled back soon enough.

“And yet,” England seemed to realize, or perhaps had always realized and was only now willing to reveal it, “I’m disappointed in the lack of sex off this bed.”

“Oh God,” America moaned, felt his cock twitch inside England.

England undoubtedly felt it too, because his grin became a bit smugger. 

“Fuck the bed, then,” America declared.

England laughed. “I certainly hope not.”

“You know what I meant,” America said and wasn’t exactly sure what he himself meant because all the blood in his body was in his cock and it left his brain feeling addled and fuzzy. Especially with England smiling at him like that and stroking the hair on his head in a way that could probably be obscene if anyone else had been around to witness it. 

He grasped England and shifted, standing up, still inside him and cradling him against his body. England almost _purred_ and simply wrapped his limbs around America, holding on tightly. He rested his chin on America’s shoulder, tilting it to bite at his neck appreciatively, leaving more bites and marks. America hissed low in pleasure and England ran his tongue over the marks in a silent apology before going in to bite him all over again. 

America kicked the curtains aside from the glass door opening up to the balcony. 

The door slid open with one hand and banged loudly from the force, and England chuckled at the eagerness. His response was a slap to the ass that sent England into a quiet moan, rubbing his cock against America’s stomach as a means to relieve the pleasure from the sudden spark of arousal that coursed through him from the slap. 

“How’s this?” America rasped, pushing England’s backside against the balcony’s railing. 

“Mm, it’s cold,” England decided, breathing heavily.

“Don’t worry,” America murmured, “I’ll keep you nice and hot.” 

Their breaths came out in clouds of white mist. The sweat on their bodies made them shiver, but they did not retreat. America shifted, grasping England’s legs and unwrapping them from around them, spreading them wide. In a spread-eagle stance, England dropped his arms back, grasping the railing as America, still inside him, thrust up to meet him. Face to face, both panting out clouds of breath, their mouths found each other. They shared the same breath, felt the vibrations of America’s thrusting through their entire bodies. It was shaping up to be another successful position to be in until they heard a door sliding open a few doors down. 

“Shit!” America cursed and they both fell away from the railing, America dragging England down to the ground with a soft crash. England’s fall was cushioned by America’s broad chest and they lay together behind the privacy wall blocking the flanks of each hotel room’s balcony.

And then America laughed. “What the—why are people still awake?”

“It’s only around midnight, my dear,” England reminded him. 

“Shit, really? Thought it was later,” America said and shifted, only to groan. He hissed, quietly, “Fuck, my ass hurts.”

England’s expression flickered in amusement. “You have absolutely no right to complain about something like that after what you’ve done to me.” 

“Aww, but you love it, babe,” America protested.

England rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss America, not protesting that yes, he rather did like it. Quite a bit. 

They listened as they kissed, ears strained for any other hotel patron out on the balconies. Their bodies surged with pleasure at the thrill of having to stay silent. England rubbed himself against America, and with the cock out of his ass, cum dripped all over America’s thigh. America whined low in his throat, feeling as if he was ready to explode all over again. 

America almost protested when England pulled away from him, but the lips on his neck distracted him as England kissed down America’s chest, smile on his lips and his eyes flickered up to watch him. He drifted dangerously close to America’s cock before shifting away and kissing the cum off his thigh. 

“Fuck, England,” America whispered.

“Hmm,” England agreed, and then ran his tongue over his thigh and then over his cock, taking the head into his mouth and sucking. America choked back a strangled sob. England kept staring upward at America, watching his blue eyes. He nuzzled at the hard length, running his tongue teasingly over the ignited skin. 

“Tell me what to do,” England whispered, hot breath chilling his skin in the night air. 

It took longer than necessary for America to process what it was that England was saying. He stared blankly at England, feeling his mind short-circuit from the look on England’s face, quietly confident and downright longing. England blinked and it seemed to move slower than usual, a batting of eyelashes as his eyes flickered back down to America’s crotch and slowly back up to America’s face, inviting. America blinked at him, and then moaned as comprehension dawned on him. He bucked his hips. 

“Make me hurt,” America begged. “Make me need.” 

England said nothing in reply. One hand slid up America’s thigh, holding him steady on the ground. Then he swallowed America, working his tongue along the underside as he’d done earlier in the evening and America bit into his hand to keep from crying out and alerting other balcony-goers of their activities. He leaned back, other hand tangling in England’s hair and forcing his mouth up and down along his cock, his hold rough. England moaned and the vibrations were enough for America to jerk up into England’s mouth again. 

The other hand left America’s mouth and fisted in England’s hair, too. Both hands gripping his head, he pumped England up and down along his cock, thrusting up into his mouth and reveling in the sound of England choking on his cock. England pulled away to breathe, panting, saliva coating his lips and America’s cock. And then he was right back down again, forcefully swallowing and releasing the cock as the cockhead pushed down the back of his throat, filling his mouth as completely as it filled the rest of him. England whimpered, one hand still gripping America’s thigh but the other hand going to fist himself, rubbing against his hand until he felt he would explode. Drool fell out of his mouth as he kept his mouth lax and relaxed, letting America shove his cock deep into his mouth and pull out. 

“God, England,” America moaned, pulling on England’s hair until the other nation gasped in pleasure from the pain. He pulled harder and England’s head tipped back, exposing his throat, mouth open and saliva at the corners of his mouth. He licked at his lips absently, eyes hooded and swirling with lust. 

England didn’t say anything, just forced his head back down, staring up at America as he ran his tongue from the base of his cock to the head. He curled his tongue around the cockhead, dexterous, smoothing the tip over the slit in his cock. America moaned, and thrust up so the cock slipped easily into England’s mouth. England sucked and licked, swallowing as much of the cock as he could, still unused to its size in his little mouth. 

America could feel himself nearing the edge, unsure if he should let the cum roll off England’s face. The cum from earlier was still there and the idea was appealing. But he could feel the cum slipping out of England, and that was a much more pressing matter. He pulled England’s head roughly away and England moaned as America scooped him up, completely forgetting that earlier they’d been avoiding being seen—if someone saw it, then fuck it, his head was too clouded with lust to give a shit. 

He pushed England onto his back, lifting himself up onto his knees. He grasped England’s legs and lifted them, lifting his backside up along the way until it was perpendicular to the ground. He held his ankles and brought his knees to England’s shoulders. He arched the ankles over his shoulders where they hooked and held firm. His hands found England’s hips, and England’s hands grasped America’s thighs, holding him steady upside down. 

“You—” England began but seemed to have forgotten how to speak. “You really don’t want it to slip out of me—aaaah.” 

America thrust into England and only got two thrusts in before he was climaxing, his cum filling into England to join the other loads. He bucked against England, watched England’s body rock slightly, his shoulders scraping against the floor of the balcony. He stared up at America as America bucked against him, his mouth still open, and it took America a moment to realize that, yes, England was drooling from the overload in pleasure. His eyes fluttered and then shut and he moaned, letting America drive into him harshly, gripping his hips tight enough to leave bruises, his cock thrusting deeply into England’s tight heat.

America continued to thrust and England shifted, unhooking his ankles from America’s shoulders to press his feet against his chest, giving him the leverage to ride against America, pumping his cock and milking him dry. They panted and slowly America slipped out of England. He scooped England into his lap. He pressed his fingers into England to plug him up.

“I love having my cum in you,” America whispered against England’s mouth. England was still breathless, mouth open. America licked into his mouth and kissed him, cradling the back of his head as he did so. When he pulled away, he whispered against his mouth, feeling England shiver from the words and from the cool night air, “I love knowing I’m in you even hours afterward. I love knowing that you’re filled with me and only me. Maybe I should buy you a plug so I can fuck you in the morning and you can have me inside you all day. And I’d always know, even at meetings and stuff like that.”

England laughed, breathless, his cock still hard and rigid between them as he rubbed against America’s lap, attempting to reawaken America’s cock. “As if you have a hard enough time getting work done at meetings, as it is.” 

“It would also keep you ready for me at any moment,” America continued, cock stirring at the thought. “I wouldn’t need lube if I was already inside you. I could pull you away for a few minutes, slip in, and fuck you up against a wall. Then you’d have even more cum waiting for me when the meetings were over. I’d fuck you on the table, against the paperwork—”

“America,” England whined, humping against America. The cum spilled out of him, despite the fingers blocking his entrance. America shifted his fingers, biting at England’s neck as he searched out his prostate. When he found it, England gasped loudly, a rattling moan. 

“You like that idea?” America whispered. “I love it. I love knowing that I could be in you always. Pull you away during lunch break and fuck you a couple times. And god, even with the plug I bet you’d still be just as tight as before. Just swallow my cock right up even when I don’t think I could possibly fit any more in.”

His fingers found the prostate again and began to rub, and England was a writhing, quivering mass in his lap. He rubbed against America, reawakening him and making his face flush. England panted, gripping his shoulders tightly as his nails dug into the skin.

“You like it when my cum drips out of you, don’t you? You want me to fill you up until it pours instead of just drips, don’t you?”

England moaned his response, nodding weakly as he writhed against him. 

America grinned, triumphant. “God, I wish we could stay like this every day. You could just live off my cum. I could fill you every time you felt empty and just fuck you against every surface in this room, at any time, in any position. I’d fuck you until you went numb, baby.”

England didn’t respond, because he was arching up and moaning, white ribbons of cum streaming over his panting chest. He writhed against America and America stroked his prostate until, sated, England flopped against America’s chest, breathing harshly against his neck, eyelashes fluttering. He didn’t say anything but it was clear he was pleased. He rubbed against America absently and America wrapped his arm around him, keeping his fingers inside him even as he felt cum falling over his hand.

Slowly, England’s hand pressed between them, fisting America’s cock, already hard again. “Fuck me until I go numb,” he requested, or more like demanded. He squeezed and America gasped. “Fuck me.”

America nodded, removing his fingers to guide his cock back into England. England was completely boneless and limp against him, still shaking from the cold and from the force of all the orgasms he’d experienced that night. 

So when America pushed back against him, England fell back effortlessly, breathing still harsh. America stretched out his legs, nestling England between them. England, still straddling him, had his back arched. Really, the flexibility of this man should be considered indecent and downright lewd, but he seemed comfortable arched like that, still straddling America with America inside him. England rested his head between America’s knees and idly reached out his arms to steady himself, grasping America’s feet. 

England leaned forward, felt his body rock into England again, pliant and relaxed. There was no resistance, just satisfied acceptance. 

“I love…” England began, staring up at the night sky above them. He swallowed thickly as America rocked into him. He moaned, “I love knowing I can make you this hard every time.”

America didn’t respond, just kissed at England’s chest, licked at the remaining trails of cum. He could taste England on his tongue and it was enough for him to rock harshly against England again and again, pounding into him. 

“And,” England said absently, arching up again so he could press his lips against America’s ear, “I love when you fill me.” 

“O-oh fuck,” America gasped, his softly spoken words jolting straight through his body. “Fuck, come here, you hot bastard.” 

He grabbed the legs straddling him and shifted them so that the knees were bent over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around England, pressing his hands to his back and thrusting into him, hands roaming. He grabbed his hips and bobbed England up and down on his cock as England sobbed out his pleasure.

He lifted England up, standing now. England moaned, legs still hitched over his shoulders and grasping onto him as America slammed him up against the glass door, the cool glass against his back making him shiver. America thrust up into him, using his arms to move England up and down as always. England didn’t move, just let himself be moved, still feeling too sated from so many orgasms and having America inside him. 

America pressed into him, pressing his forehead against the glass door behind England and staring into the hotel room. It was a mess, but not nearly as much as it should have been. The bed was askew and the blankets and sheets were thrown haphazardly across the mattress or on the floor. He pulled away, shifting England again away from the door and instead bent over the ledge of the balcony, looking out over the cityscape as America drilled into him. England moaned, spreading his legs and letting America push in and out of him, his body completely unresisting now.

“I’m going to come soon,” America murmured in England’s ear before licking at the shell and biting down on the earlobe.

England moaned, breathlessly. His body seemed to tighten up and America realized England was doing it on purpose, tightening up and forcing America to stay inside him. America moaned, stopped thrusting so he could grind against England instead, buried in him up to the hilt. Cum oozed out of him, running down his thighs indecently. 

When he finally did come, the stars in his eyes he saw were quite possibly the blinking lights of the city beyond them, but he liked to think it was because England rocked his world. When he said as much to England, his response was a quiet snort and a roll of England’s hips as he looked over his shoulder at him. 

America collected England into his arms, and the older man flopped against him, curled up into his warmth and did not move, completely at America’s mercy. America held onto him protectively, stumbled back a bit until he hit the balcony’s lounge chair and fell back into it, England in his lap. They slept. 

 

\---

 

The first thing he was aware of was that his toes were cold. The second thing he knew was that there was a heavy weight in his lap. He tried to go back to sleep for a moment, hand groping around idly for the blankets so he could pull them over his cold toes, before he remembered that he wasn’t even in bed anymore. He remembered this, of course, after his hand connected not with a blanket but rather with another body, fingers pressing against a hip. When America opened his eyes, he had no idea what time it was, only that he was cold and that England was rubbing against his lap idly. When he blinked his eyes open, he found England watching him with that low smile of his, warm and sultry. It sent a shiver down America’s spine, though that might have been the late night chill. The hand on England’s hip shifted experimentally, connecting. England was warm. 

“Welcome back,” England greeted, grinding against him.

“Hey—how long have you been up?” America asked, and was too sleepy and disoriented to play off that potential pun. That was probably a blessing in disguise, though, at least in England’s mind. 

England smiled. “Not long. I was going to suck you off to wake you up but it seems you’re a lighter sleeper than I remember.”

“Jesus,” America cursed, voice soft, rolling his hips to meet England’s, grinding in time with him. 

“It’s cold out here,” England said and leaned in close, kissing at America’s jaw to usher away any signs of sleepiness. “And,” he murmured as he licked down his neck. “I am painfully,” he whispered, biting at the junction between shoulder and neck, “sinfully,” he purred as he lathed his tongue along the expanse of his collarbone, “empty.”

America couldn’t speak, his mouth working open but no sound able to escape. England was still grinding against his lap, cocks hard between them. America blinked a few times, unable to stop the way his heart thudded, the way his body quaked with desire.

“Warm me up?” England whispered, peering up at America in an expression that could only be described as coy. “Fill me up?”

America didn’t need to be asked twice. He stood up, abruptly, cradling England. England murmured a quiet, tired laugh and wrapped his limbs around America as America carried him, groping blindly for the door handle to slide the glass door open. He stumbled, still sleep-addled but also nearly hyperventilating from England’s softly spoken words. 

He started stumbling towards the bed and England pushed a hand against his face, drawing his attention back to England. England smiled. “Not there. Somewhere else.”

“Mmf,” was all America could manage to say because England was biting his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth and doing unspeakably dirty things to America’s mouth without even having to say or do much of anything.

“It’s too soft. I want something hard,” England whispered and bucked against America’s hips, inviting him closer. Their cocks pressed together and America moaned.

“Hard, huh?” America asked, looking around.

“You did promise to fuck me against every available surface. Why not start now?” England asked, and this time his voice was a purr. It was sinful for him to be as hot as he was in that moment, face flushed, body pliant, and in America’s arms. He raised one eyebrow, and there was still cum on his face, and _oh god_ —

He practically threw England onto the desk. He swept his arm out, knocking the lamp and the phone off. Miscellaneous pads of paper, menus, and the like all went flying at the force of America’s sweep, clearing the surface for England. They clattered to the floor but America didn’t care as he worked at shoving England down onto his back.

“Like that?” he asked.

England didn’t answer, just arched his back and spread his legs. His hips perched on the very edge, his legs spreading for him—it was too hot. America stumbled back towards the bed, groping through the dirty bed sheets blindly for the bottle of lube he’d been able to neglect up until this point. But England needed to be prepared again after for however long they’d slept—the clock, America noticed when he glanced at it, read three thirty-four in the morning—and America knew that the cum he’d shot into England had probably all dripped out onto his lap and legs at this point, it was hard to tell in the dark. Their only source of light came from the outside, but their eyes were adjusted to the dark. He came back to England, who was lying there waiting for him.

He rubbed the lube over his fingers, spread England’s legs again, and pushed in. Instantly England tightened up and America hesitated. He was so tight. He loved it, but he worried that he would hurt England, hurt him more than the man would want to be hurt. He pressed his finger in him, swallowed thickly around the tightness in his throat. England moaned low, bucking his hips up to take more of the digit into him.

“America—” England began but America leaned up and kissed him, shoving his tongue into England as he shoved a second finger into him, scissoring his fingers inside of him, spreading and stretching and trying to make the oppressive heat and tightness loosen as if somewhat. But England was too small and he knew, in the back of his mind, that he would never be able to properly prepare England for the size of his cock.

England kissed him back and hissed as America pushed in a third finger, pushing in and out, searching out his prostate and searching out a way to loosen the other nation up. But England refused to loosen up. He moaned against America’s mouth, biting at his lip and his tongue and smoothing his own tongue over the roof of his mouth and the rows of his teeth.

Once he was certain that England was as loose as he was going to get, he pressed a liberal amount of lube over his own cock, seized England’s ankles, and held his legs up at a high angle as a means to try and ease the entry. He spread England’s legs until he was spread eagle and England panted, arching, staring up at him from his position on the desk. He pushed into England, slowly, moving his hips so slowly. England tensed up, and America paused, knowing he’d used force before and wanting to be gentle now, just in case—he didn’t want England to be completely pained. 

But England had stopped moaning and was staring at him. America froze, worried he had hurt him, after all. He was halfway into England and his body quivered, wanting to either pull out or push all the way in. England was staring at him, expectant, face tense. America grinned apologetically and leaned in to kiss England, holding his legs and bending between his legs to reach him. 

They kissed. But, England pulled away soon enough, gripping America’s hair tightly and tugging harshly. 

“Ow!” America barked, rearing back. 

England kept pulling tightly, glaring up at him.

“Stop being so fucking gentle.” 

“I haven’t been gentle before, though,” America protested. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

England rolled his eyes and rolled his hips in time with it. America gasped as England pulled America in closer, legs quivering under his hold. 

“I am sick of you holding yourself back,” England growled. 

“I’m stronger than you,” America protested.

“So flaunt it,” England moaned, rolling his hips and shivering as America’s too-large cock pressed into him. America almost pulled back but England still had a grip on his hair and tugged painfully when America’s hips shifted backward. “You’re stronger than me, so fucking flaunt it, you smug bastard.” 

“But—”

“I know you like it, too,” England protested. “I can see it. You,” he continued, and the annoyed look in his eyes melted away into an all-too-knowing smile, a wicked smirk, “like how tight of a fit it is, don’t you?”

“Oh God,” America whispered.

England smirked, his voice dropping an octave, husky and ragged, licking his lips painfully slowly and staring up at America. “I’m right, aren’t I? You love how tight of a squeeze it is, you love the fact that you’re just too fucking big for me but I want all of you anyway.” 

“England, oh god…”

England shifted his lips, scissoring his legs shut, crossed at the ankles. The tightness inside of him increased until America felt as if his cock would be strangled. It was too hot, there was too much burning—but god the friction, it was too much. He moaned, letting the whispered lust rip its way from his throat. He bucked his hips weakly against England, powerless to stop England’s control over him, even as he laid on the desk, physically dominated by America.

“Hmm,” England hummed, opening his legs again and loosening his grip, only to slam his legs together when America thrust weakly into him. “I’m right, yes? You love having to force your way in, love how there’s barely any room for your cock and your cum at the same time.” 

England grinned, victorious, scissoring his legs apart and together, alternating between America’s thrusts. America still moved slowly, unsure how much strength he should give up. He grasped England’s ankles tightly, taking over England’s control and opening and closing his legs himself. England sighed, a bit frustrated, and bucked his hips up just as America thrust into him. England moaned as the jolt of pain pushed through him. 

America froze again, gripping England’s legs. 

“Damn it, America,” England moaned. “ _Fuck_ me. Hurt me. Don’t hold back.” 

America breathed out sharply, eyes widening slightly as England writhed beneath him, tightened his grip on his hair and forced him down to kiss him. Their teeth clacked together painfully but soon enough England was in his mouth, tasting and dominating him even as America thrust into him and held his legs apart. 

“If you don’t I’ll push you to the ground and fuck you myself,” England growled against his mouth when he pulled apart.

America clenched his eyes shut, inhaled sharply.

“You know you want to,” England goaded, his voice soft and deceptively sweet, curling into him and burrowing into the deepest corners of the dirtiest parts of his mind. The fingers in his hair stroked his scalp, curled over his ear and under his jaw and back into his hair again, fisting him and curling into him and carding through the hair. England whispered, “Feel how tight I am, and that’s all yours, forever. Take down your armor, America. You don’t have to be defensive and protective when it’s just you and me. Make me beg for mercy.”

“England…” America whispered, lips grazing over England’s.

England smiled, knowing he was winning, that it was only a matter of time before America gave in. “I belong to you tonight. So lay claim to me.”

America moaned, pulling away slightly to lay haphazard kisses over England’s shuddering stomach. 

“I know you like it, America. I know you love having me all to yourself, but also having to fight my body to have me completely. So give in. Force me to submission.” 

“England—” America moaned in a choking sob.

England carded his fingers through America’s hair, smiling in his victory. “If you and I both know we like it, why hold back? Go ahead and let go. I’m not going to break.” 

America stayed very still, ducking his head and pressing his mouth to England’s belly-button. He stayed perfectly still for a long moment and then he pulled back, grasping England’s legs and pushing them together, crossing them so that the tightness was unspeakably tight and hot. And then America rolled his hips back and thrust so hard into him that the desk shifted and slammed into the wall with a loud crash. England gasped loudly in pain, tensing up at the pain that rippled through him and seized him up until he forgot to breathe for half a moment. When he blinked his eyes open, America was staring at him, judging his reaction, and England smiled at him in encouragement. 

“Again,” England moaned. “Don’t stop.”

America nodded, then thrust again into him, harder this time. He didn’t hold back his strength and the desk rocked and creaked as he slammed into England’s body, the friction and heat unbearably tight and strangling, sending them both into incoherent sobs of pleasure. England’s body stiffened up in the pain, the friction unbearable, the force of the large cock pushing in and out of him relentlessly making him lose all function in anything else other than writhing and giving into everything that America could want. He called out his name, groped blindly for some part of America to hold. He arched up, grasping the back of his neck and panting feebly as America rocked into him, undeniably strong, far stronger than he was.

He never would have believed that his former colony could have become this strong, strong enough to make England feel as if he was going to break in two. He knew he’d have bruises in places that shouldn’t have bruises once this was done, knew he’d be sore and, truthfully, lucky if he could walk to the airport. With a muffled sob he realized, perhaps for the first time, how painful that ride on the plane heading back to London would be. America was just so strong, too strong almost. His body rocked, the desk creaked, and America wasn’t even breaking a sweat. 

And then his thrusts became more frenzied, and England realized the boy was probably near his peak. He slammed into England relentlessly, rocking his body across the wooden surface of the desk. The desk wheezed, rocking from side to side in time with America’s harsh movements. America had his eyes closed, head tipped back, moaning England’s name to the ceiling and completely lost in the movement, unconcerned with hurting him now—which was just as well because god, the pain, it was too much for England to handle, and his body sobbed with pleasure.

The desk broke. England heard it crack and then suddenly he was falling and crashing over a broken desk. America landed on top of him, knocking the wind from him so that he wheezed breathlessly. America at least had the decency to not keep thrusting into England, though he kept himself buried deep into England.

They blinked their eyes open, panting, mouths open greedily sucking in air. England stared up at America. And then America’s face rippled and he started laughing.

“Oops?”

“Christ,” England breathed as America let go of his legs and let England flop down onto his back. Then he started to laugh, too, breathless and unspeakably aroused by the display of America’s power.

“Damn,” America said, laughter in his voice, laced with lust and determination. 

When England opened his eyes again he found America looking at him, smiling despite himself, hands pressing over his thighs soothingly, another silent apology for being rough but no regret in his eyes. England had no doubt that when they began to move again, America would be slamming into him just as hard. 

“Well,” England said, picking up a broken desk leg with unmasked amusement. “You did promise me broken furniture.”

“Yeah,” America said with a laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” England said. “I’d be better if you kept going. I don’t remember telling you to stop.”

He tossed the desk leg away and wrapped his arms around America, kissing him. America moaned, and didn’t protest, planting his hands on the broken desk and bucking into England. England let America shift him. England shifted, propping one arm under him for support as he stared at America, waiting to see what position the boy wanted to put him in. America grinned at him widely, stretching one of England’s legs out along the floor and then extending his other leg up perpendicular to his body, resting against America’s chest. He shifted, straddling England’s grounded leg, pushing into him again and hissing at the tightness. England rested his leg against America’s shoulder as America grasped him tightly and thrust into him. England body’s rocked and he fell back, writhing and moaning.

“God, you’re so tight,” America said, still marveling at this even after being in him so many times that night. 

He thrust into England, rocking him against the broken desk, letting his hands grope up his perpendicular leg, tight enough to leave marks at times. He pressed his face in, kissing at his knee and up along his inner thigh before tipping his head upward, kissing at his calf absently. 

“I’ll never tire of fucking you,” America moaned. 

England moaned in reply, bucking his hips up as America thrust in and out of him, rocking his body until England’s head thumped against the floor with each thrust and he loved it, loved the pain shooting through him, loved the way he could feel every inch of America dragging inside of him—there was so much friction, so much heat. He was burning up, and he loved it. 

“God, how can you still be this tight?” 

“Maybe you’re—just—too—big,” England panted, each word punctuating a gasp from one of America’s thrusts.

America grinned, swelling with pride at the admission on England’s part. If England wasn’t too busy panting and moaning from pleasure, blinking his eyes to keep the sweat from blurring his vision, he would have rolled his eyes. But at the moment he was too appreciative of having the huge cock inside him, thumping him into the ground as America finally utilized his superior strength to fuck England into the floor. 

“You like my big cock, England?”

“Nnn… I’ll never hear the end of it if I say yes, hm?” 

America grinned at him, face red from pleasure and from happiness. England panted, breathing harshly through his nose and clenching his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as one particularly painful thrust rocked his body a few inches across the wooden surface. 

“You don’t have to say yes,” America whispered as he thrust. “I already know.” 

England moaned, writhing against him as America’s cock found his prostate yet again, striking him down into completely incoherency. 

“Say it,” America urged, “Say what you feel—what you like.”

England whimpered America’s name as America slammed into him. “I—a-aaaaah. I love yo—your—”

America did not slow his pace down, as that would be too merciful, and continued to slam into England until the man gave up trying to speak and just gave in to the guttural moans and whimpers and cries for America, letting America slam into his pliant form. His mouth flopped open in silent ecstasy, tongue lolling slightly as a little bit of drool fell from his open mouth again. His body quivered and the leg stretched up against America’s shoulder became deadweight as England simply sank into the wood of the desk, unable to move and unwilling to move. America drilled home into a boneless being, completely at his mercy and saturated with pleasure. 

Even when America’s hand wrapped around England’s cock and pumped him to orgasm, England couldn’t react beyond a quiet moan of America’s name, his cum splashing across his chest and staying there, where his heart thundered and his chest panted. He smiled dreamily at America as America continued to slam into him, hand covered in England’s cum. England smiled, his smile almost that of a sleepy quality, and captured America’s hand, bringing it to his mouth as America slammed painfully into his tight heat. He licked at the cum on America’s fingertips, sucking first one finger into his mouth, releasing it, and sucking in the other. America moaned as England’s tongue lapped at America’s palm and between his fingers, dexterous tongue curling around each digit and staring up at America with such longing.

With one final, painful thrust, America spilled his cum into England. England moaned around the fingers in his mouth and America choked out sobbed syllables that may have once been England’s name. England flopped to his back as he milked America dry, taking all the cum into him, feeling the warm heat fill him up and leave him completely satisfied and yet longing for more. 

England panted, letting go of America’s hand as the other nation took it back, stretching England’s legs out for him, working at the sore muscles idly with his fingertips. England gave him a sloppy smile and closed his eyes, sighing in contentment as America’s hands worked at the sore muscles in his thighs, working out the knots and kneading at the skin until his panting became more relaxed, gentle ‘mmm’s of pleasure. 

America bent his head, licking the cum from the head of England’s cock. He did not linger, however, and drifted away, kissing along England’s quivering thighs. His hands spread them idly and he pressed his face between England’s legs, kissing at his thighs and drifting ever closer. England sucked in a harsh breath and did not protest when America moved him. He let America do as he pleased, and this included licking away the cum dripping out of him already.

“Fuck,” England said in a watery sob. 

America licked his lips and pulled away, eyes flickering up to England. With shaking arms, England pushed himself up to a sitting position and dragged America up to meet him, kissing him softly on the mouth. America kissed him back, cradling the back of his head as he did so, his other hand mapping out along his side, his hip, and his thigh. He kept his touch light, already pressing down to places that were already so tender, already threatening bruises and scrapes and love bites. 

“You sure you’re okay?” America asked when he pulled away, kissing at the corner of England’s mouth.

England hummed and pressed his forehead against America’s shoulder. “I’m _fine._ More than fine.”

America nuzzled against his neck, nosing into his hair and kissing at his ear. England sighed, relaxing into his touch and knowing that he was completely hopeless. 

“You know,” America said a short while later, conversationally, sounding oddly childish despite their movement around the room. “It’s people like us who make housekeepers’ lives a living hell. And why all hotel rooms are covered in weird bodily fluids.”

“Isn’t it splendid?” England drawled with a small roll of his eyes. Secretly he mourned for the poor soul who would see this room next. They’d have to pay for damages, among other things. Probably clean up a _lot_ before they left the room. Maybe burn everything, actually. “Which reminds me… get off me for a second, darling.”

America did as he was told, unpinning England from up against the hotel room’s door. England pulled the ‘do not disturb’ sign off the inside doorknob and waved it in front of America’s face with an amused smile. Then he opened the door a crack, and slipped it over the outside’s doorknob. When he closed the door, he turned around, resting against the door and smiling up at America as America slid back up to him, pressing his hips up against England’s. 

“If you truly do intend to keep me up until dawn, I think we may sleep through when they’re meant to come in,” England said in explanation as America bent his head to kiss along England’s neck. 

“Hmm,” America agreed, absently. He bit down against his shoulder and pressed his tongue over the resulting mark.

England moaned quietly. He kept his eyes shut as America pressed his mouth up and down along his available skin, nibbling and licking and kissing. He felt as if he was sinking and was thankful for the door giving him support and keeping him from just collapsing against America. America’s hands strayed to England’s hips, thumbs pressing along the jut of his hipbones. England sighed, content. But then he slipped away from America, curling into the bathroom. He clicked on the light and blinked as he grew accustomed to the light. He heard America come in, too, and then in the reflection saw America come up close to him before he felt him press up against his back, wrapping his arms around England’s waist and nuzzling against the back of his neck, kissing and biting him again. England closed his eyes and smiled, sighing slightly. 

“What are you doing?” America asked, rubbing up against England’s backside, his cock slipping comfortably between England’s legs. England spread his legs a bit to accommodate the welcome intrusion of space. 

England tilted his head back and kissed at America’s jaw. “I was going to wash my face.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because it’s in desperate need of it.” Sweat, mostly. Not to mention the cum still in his hair and on parts of his face. He reached out towards the sink but America seized his hands, pulling them back to kiss at each pad of his fingertips. “America…” 

“I like having my cum on your face,” America whispered before sucking England’s index finger into his mouth.

England bit back a moan. “I’m sure you do, you possessive twat. You can do it again if you want to so badly.” 

America rubbed his hips against England, and England felt America’s cock slide against his legs, already stiffening up from England’s nonchalant permission. England sighed again, taking his hand from America’s mouth and curling it into America’s hair instead. He kissed at his jaw some more, eyes falling shut.

“I’m not sure what I want more,” America admitted.

“Hm?” England hummed, distracted by the intoxicating taste of America’s skin.

“To fuck your mouth until I come all over your face or fuck you until you overflow with my cum,” America said casually, though his voice dropped in volume and grew significantly huskier. England shivered and this time rubbed back against America, inviting the hardening cock between his legs to pump back and forth, rubbing against the underside of his own cock.

England’s hand drifted down his own chest idly, pushing and smearing aside his cum from earlier and fisting around the two cocks, his own and America’s peeking out from between his legs. He felt America stiffen up and bite back a small moan as England pumped his hand over America’s cock and his own cock. 

“The option of both is out of the question? I’m surprised.” England breathed in and wondered if America was finally nearing his limit, “Admittedly both seem incredibly favorable. I don’t know if I can choose.” 

America laughed. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

“So you’ve said,” England purred, letting go of America’s cock and stepping away. America reached out to drag him back but England slapped his hands away. He smoothed his way up to the sink and then, in a great show meant to send the younger nation squirming, he bent over the sink, turning on the water and arching his back in a way that could only be inviting. He spread his legs a little when he heard America inhale sharply. He could feel cum sliding down his legs, which was all the better. He heard America bite back something that sounded distinctly like a whimper, and England knew he had America right where he wanted him. 

England smiled as he washed his face and felt America grip his hips, pressing up against him again. England rubbed back against him, felt the cock slipping into the cleft of his ass and pumping against him without entering into him. He continued smiling, satisfied, splashing the cool water against his face as a means to cool his face down as well as clean his face. He moaned quietly once he was finished, shutting off the water and glancing up at America over his shoulder. 

Their eyes locked and America bit his lip, grasped England’s waist, and hauled him off his feet, pressing him down onto the countertop next to the sink and kissing at his chest, licking up the cum there. England’s hands fisted in an unassuming white face cloth and wiped at his face idly, trying to act nonchalant as America laid worship to his body. He bit into the gentle terrycloth to keep from crying out. England sucked in a sharp breath as America worked down over his chest and stomach, collecting all the cum on his lips and swallowing it with gentle passes of his tongue over his shuddering skin. He licked once at England’s cock but mercilessly pulled away before England could thrust up into that dirty little mouth. 

America picked England up again, closed the door to the bathroom so he could lean himself up against the door. He held England against him, but didn’t enter him yet. England stared at him, then at the mirror behind America’s shoulder, a full-length mirror hooked up to the door.

When he looked at America again, the younger nation was grinning. “You should watch yourself while I fuck you. Look at how completely smitten you are.”

England narrowed his eyes. “You are a perfect little narcissist.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” America said, not even bothering to deny it. England wrapped his arms around America’s neck and rested his chin on his shoulder, staring absently at his reflection, and at the reflection of America’s golden hair and bruising shoulder. 

He remembered to keep his eyes open as America entered into him. He never would be used to the size of America, nor of the remarkable strength he used when he grasped England’s body and slammed it down onto his cock. He pumped in and out of him and England watched his face twist and turn, flush with passion and close off in those brief moments before the pain dulled to an irresistible pleasure. He tried not to focus too closely, but he knew. As he looked over America’s shoulder and saw his reflection, he knew the expression, lax with pleasure but open, so open. There was no way in these moments that he could deny loving America, not when it was written so clearly across his face. He missed America when he was away, missed feeling so completely full, all because of America. He missed everything about the idiot, even the stupid, moronic things. He cried out softly as America continued to thrust harshly up into him and he shook his head when he felt America slow down. He mouthed ‘keep going’ against America’s neck and America resumed, kissing at England’s shoulder.

England focused on the feel of America forcing his cock so utterly up into him. It was so painful, his body was so sore and spent from the hours of having America fuck him, but still he did not want the boy to stop, never wanted him to stop. He was too unbearably empty without America, without America driving into him and thrusting up into him until he was nothing more than a quivering ball of lust, for America and only America. 

“England—” America wheezed out in a strangled gasp.

“Say I’m yours, say you’re mine,” England whispered, voice broken by his lust. He writhed in America’s arms. “America—”

“You’re _mine,_ ” America growled, a rare moment of possession pushing past his voice and punctuated his remark with a sharp thrust upwards. England’s eyes flew open and he stared at his reflection, at the way his face rippled with pain and pleasure, his mouth lax. Then America pressed his lips against his ear, and whispered, as if embarrassed but not ashamed: “And I’m yours.” 

Mutual possession. Perhaps in the past they couldn’t have spoken those words, but wrapped so completely in America, and holding America to his mercy as he was—there was no denying and no shame. England made his eyes stay open, ignored the way tears inexplicably sprang to his eyes—it was the pain, it had to be the pain—and swallowed a thick lump in his throat. He moaned, threw his head back and lost sight of his reflection. It was for the better, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to react to seeing the look in his eyes once those words settled. And settled they did. England barked out a quiet laugh that filtered away to a moan and he bucked his hips hard against America, trying to remind him to _make him his, make him submit._

“Never stop,” England whispered against America’s neck, kissing him. He bit down, harder than he had before and America gasped, the breath rattling in his throat. England licked his tongue along the length of his neck, over his adam’s apple and his pulse. He brushed his tongue in time to America’s steadily accelerating pulse and suckled the adam’s apple into his mouth, pressing his tongue absently to the knob. He pulled away to swallow, licked his way up his neck, under his chin and kissing him on the mouth. “Never stop,” he said again against America’s mouth, “Don’t stop.” 

“England,” was all America managed to murmur before he continued thrusting, shifting so he was leaning heavily against the mirror. England blinked his eyes open, watched his face in the reflection, watched the way his hands curled around America’s back and pressed against the steady expanse of muscle and soft skin.

England mouthed three words against America’s skin but America was too far gone to hear them, to determine what it was that England was saying, which was just as well. England smiled, arching his back away from America, letting himself hang in the air and knowing that America would effortlessly support his weight. Sure enough, one arm stayed wrapped protectively around his waist while the other lifted up to cup the back of his neck, supporting him as he let himself hang in the air, connected to America only at the hips. He stared up at the ceiling, grasping America’s shoulders as America thrust up into him, rocking his body and sending jolts of sated pleasure through his veins. 

He pressed his forehead against the mirror, saw his reflection. And then he closed his eyes, pulled away, and kissed America instead, focused on him, stroking his fingers into his hair, cupping his cheeks, and letting himself fall completely against America until America was done and thrusting harshly up into him, emptying his load of cum inside of England. 

It dripped out of him, pushed and fought for space inside of England, with America’s cock taking up the majority of the space inside of him. England breathed harshly, rubbing himself down onto the quickly softening cock, grinding against him and keeping him inside him for as long as he could, because he could not bear to be without him for too long, not now, not after they’d finally gotten to squeeze up next to one another.

“England,” America breathed, his voice soft, his hands holding him close. 

The older nation nuzzled against him and a moment later felt his own orgasm take him, streams of cum passing between the two of them, clinging to their panting chests. 

America went to set England down but England clung to him, pressing against him, still breathing heavily. “I don’t think I can stand.” 

“Guess I’ll have to carry you, won’t I?” America asked with a chuckle, cradling England gently as he opened the door, clicking off the light.

They blinked as they adjusted to the dim light in the room—

“The sun’s going to come up soon,” America said absently, looking out the window where the sky in the east had more of an ashen color than it had previously. 

England hummed and rested his face against America’s neck. “Looks as if you were successful in your quest to keep me up all night.”

“Was it worth it?” America asked, grinning.

England nuzzled against him. “What do you think?”

“… I think you need a bath,” America decided, eyeing his dirtied body and hair, slumped against America with such utter bonelessness that if he were to try to stand, America was certain England would just collapse. 

“Oh?” England asked, though nodded his head absently. “You aren’t going to keep me going until the sun is actually up?”

“I would, but I’m exhausted. Fucking you all night is really tiring.” America kissed at England’s neck as he turned around and moved back into the bathroom, clicking on the light again and sitting on the edge of the bathtub, England still in his lap. He held onto England protectively as he plugged up the bath and began running the water to fill it. “Besides,” America said, brushing sweat-dampened hair from England’s forehead so he could place a haphazard kiss there, “You look exhausted, too.”

“I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours,” England agreed, yawning against America’s neck before pressing a few kisses there. “And a good majority of the time I would spend sleeping, by doing, well…”

“Me?” America asked, shit-eating grin and all.

England stayed flopped against him, but looked distinctly grumpy. Grumpy in the way where he wasn’t completely outraged but felt the need for pretense. 

America slipped into the tub with England, waiting as the water filled up to a reasonable height before shutting it off and leaning back with England lying against his chest, letting his arm flop over the edge of the tub and onto the floor mat. England shifted, slipping between America’s bent legs and resting his back against America’s chest. He closed his eyes, relaxed against America’s comforting presence and sinking into the warmth and comfort the water provided. He felt America’s other arm wrap protectively around England’s waist, hand resting on his upper thigh. England nuzzled against America’s neck but otherwise the soak went completely unspoken, both too tired to say much of anything, bodies slumped and sinking slowly into the water inch by inch.

“We shouldn’t fall asleep,” England finally said after a long moment, shifting and disturbing the stillness of the water. He turned around to look at America, but it seemed America had already gone and fallen asleep.

England sighed out a little sigh, shifting so he was facing America completely, straddling his legs absently as he reached out his hands, pushing the limp hair from his face with careful ease. He stroked the side of America’s face, using his wet hand to clean at his face, lax with exhausted sleep. Once or twice he shifted, but England kept his touch gentle. Under normal circumstances, had England not been utterly exhausted, he would have been able to get America up and out of the tub on his own and into the bed, but as such his entire body tensed up at the very idea, already sore and exhausted from their activities. 

The older nation pressed a kiss to America’s forehead, letting his lips linger before he reached behind him and pulled the plug on the bathtub. He shook at America’s shoulders until the younger nation cracked his eyes open.

England gave him a small smile, apologetic. “We should go to sleep. You won’t find this nearly as comfortable once the water goes cold.”

“Hmm,” America hummed absently, but it sounded like agreement.

Sure enough, a few moments later America was sitting up, grabbing the towels and scooping England up, cradling the older nation against his chest with one arm. England sighed, wrapping his legs around America’s waist and holding onto his shoulders as America haphazardly dried them off, carried him to the bed, and crashed onto it with England. England shifted to get more comfortable and when he turned his attention back to America, the nation was asleep again. England smiled fondly, squeezed up to America’s side, and made himself comfortable. He hooked his leg over America’s body, keeping himself pressed up against him until he, too, fell asleep. 

 

\---

 

The clock said it was two in the afternoon when England opened his eyes. England closed them again, telling himself that he must have misread it, that it was probably noon, or perhaps nine. 

But no, when he opened his eyes again, it was indeed two o’ clock. England would have shot right out of bed, but even the slightest shift sent his body a sore, tensed wave of pain. He hissed low in his throat and pressed his face against America’s chest. He forced himself to relax, to ignore the soreness, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of America’s chest as he breathed in his sleep. England sighed, pressing his ear to where America’s heart beat steadily, hand tracing up and down America’s chest idly. 

“How do you feel?” America asked, and his voice rumbled in his chest.

England jolted, jerking his eyes up and staring at America in surprise. “I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

“Only because you started moving around a lot,” America explained with a shrug, watching England’s hand trace up and down his chest in an idly fond manner. England stopped the movement at once. America shifted, pulling England closer. England was too weak to protest the movement and let America roll England onto his back, resting his head against England’s neck. “How do you feel?”

“Sore,” England admitted, honestly. 

“Well, at least you get a day to recover before you have to fly back?” America asked, and was grinning that stupid shit-eating grin of his.

England sighed. “I’m topping next time. The plane ride is going to be perfectly hellish.” 

“Kay,” America said and yawned, arching his back in an almost cat-like manner before wrapping his arms around England and snuggling up into him, kissing once at his neck. 

“We’ll have to pay for the damages,” England muttered, staring at the collapsed, completely destroyed desk in the corner. He pursed his lips. “And once I can move my legs, I think it would serve to clean at least a little, lest the poor woman who has to clean this room suffers a heart attack.”

“Kay,” America said again and England wondered if America was even listening to him. 

England rolled his eyes, turned his head, and kissed America’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Great,” America said, beaming. “Never been better.”

“Of course,” England muttered with a small sigh. He closed his eyes. “I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when my legs aren’t jelly.” 

“Kay,” America said for the third time, stretching out and resting his head against England’s chest, closing his eyes. “I’ll sleep with you.”

“As always.” 

The day faded away and they remained in one another’s arms.


End file.
